


Roots and Wings

by Elensule



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bottom Dean, Dom!Cas, M/M, Sub!Dean, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 11:58:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 46
Words: 208,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elensule/pseuds/Elensule
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternate universe where you learn your soulmate sometime around puberty, Dean Winchester is shocked not just that he is a sub, but that a man's name appeared on his wrist. </p>
<p>John Winchester doesn't suffer subs gladly, and Dean takes the brunt of his father's misogynistic attitude. Can the mysterious Castiel convince him he is worthwhile?</p>
<p>AU where Sam and Dean are raised apart, Cas is human, and John is a hunter raised by a disgruntled Man of Letters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my take on the dom/sub soulmate trope. Please remember that this is a FANTASY. I have no personal experience with a BDSM relationship. I do some research and do try to present the safest/sanest/healthiest relationship possible, but please remember that at the end of the day, this isn't real. Constructive criticism is welcome. Unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine. If you like the story and would like to offer to beta, I would certainly not turn you down without at least chatting first! Usual disclaimer: The characters aren't mine. Just borrowing them for a while. Hope you all enjoy!

It started in third period; history with Mr. Billing. It was just a little itch at first, like there was a tag caught in the sleeve of his shirt. He rubbed it idly with his thumb, left hand moving rhythmically to try and soothe his right. By the end of fourth period, though, it had become more than just a little distracting; it was almost all consuming. He ducked into the bathroom between classes to wash his hands, thinking maybe cold water would relax it. “Must need to wash this shirt again; it might have nettles in it or something from helping dad with that grave the other night,” he thought to himself. But Dean froze as he pulled up his sleeve and found not one single red rash, but a series of raised bumps. They were starting to form a name, though he couldn’t quite make it out yet. An S, an M, a C… An L, maybe? He couldn’t tell. Immediately, he pulled his shirt down far enough to cover his hand. “Shit.”

Presenting. He was presenting _submissive._ And of course a Winchester would have the shitty luck to present at school, where he didn’t have his cuff, didn’t have anything… He took a deep breath. “To the nurse, Dean,” he told himself firmly. He knew that they would give him something for the itching, and he remembered that they had temporary cuffs, too. 

He straightened his back as much as he could, but couldn’t help himself and pulled his right arm up protectively, his backpack banging a little unevenly. He wanted to look tough and strong, to be the real man he knew his father would want. But all he could think of was _submissive. Submissive. I’m a fucking sub._ Shit. Dad wasn’t going to be happy. But he didn’t have time to worry about all of that. 

He walked into fifth period, French with Madame Urse, and swallowed hard. He hated admitting weakness, but god.. That name growing on his wrist was worse than walking around naked! He clenched his sleeve a little more tightly where it rested on his palm, hiding the itchy welts that were steadily rising on his skin. He made a beeline for the desk, and swallowed hard. “Madame?” He knew the woman didn’t like him; he hadn’t made any sort of effort in French class. Dad never made him, said that his Latin lessons at home were enough. Still, he was praying for a little bit of consideration from the woman. Just a little.

She looked up at him, and seemed about to say something when she noticed the way he was holding his arm. Her stare grew gentler. “Dean,” she said, her voice soft. “Do you have your cuff with you?”

The young man shook his head. He felt like he was about to cry. But damn it, Winchesters don’t cry! And _certainly_ not in the middle of high school, surrounded by young doms just waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting new sub. _Sub._

“Go on to the nurse, then,” she said, reaching for her pad of hall passes. “Why don’t you stay there this period? Have a little lie down. It usually helps if you rest a little.”

Dean took the offered note in a daze, and turned out of the room. He didn’t quite remember getting to the nurse, or giving her his hall pass, but he took the little pill she gave him to help with the itching, and curled up on the cot in her office with the soft, cotton cuff she had given him wrapped around his wrist. 

He startled a little when she shook him forty minutes later. “Time for your next class, sweetie,” she said, smiling at him. 

His eyes flicked automatically to her left wrist. Domme. Where his cuff _should_ be. He forced his mind away from that and smiled back. “Thanks for the nap,’ he said, putting all of his considerable bravado to the fore. “I feel much better now.”

She gave him a look, but finally nodded. If he could bring a smile to a diner waitress, he could certainly charm a harried school nurse. Dean picked up his bag and threw it over his shoulder. Time to get back to class. 

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Dean moved through his classes without opening a book, but for once, the blue cotton stretched around his wrist was enough to save him from his teacher’s wrath.

He walked home, still in silence, ignoring the catcalls from the jocks and the tentative comments from a few girls he’d been flirting with. All he could think about were the letters on his wrist and finding out what they said. He very purposely _didn’t_ think about what Dad would say when he got back from work at the garage.

Dean dumped his backpack in his room as soon as he got back to the little apartment they were renting. Dad said there was enough work around here they could stay a little while. Dean was glad, but now he wasn’t so sure. He didn’t think he wanted to stay in a town where everyone had seen him declare that way. _Sub. Submissive. Pansy-ass goody-goody…_

Dean closed the door as his father’s voice sounded in his head. John Winchester was a good man. He tried to help people. But he never really hid the fact that he thought subs, especially male subs, were… less than. Oh, sure, they ‘deserved our support’, he’d say, but Dean didn’t really think John thought that way. No, the way he’d talk to the ones they needed to interview, that faintly patronizing tone he’d take on, Dean knew his father really had no respect for subs. For Dean. He’d always thought he’d be a Dom, like his father, but the letters on his wrist said otherwise. For a moment, he had to bite back the urge to cry again. His father thought that subs needed protecting, coddling. They couldn't do for themselves, they needed done _for_ , and it broke Dean just a little to know that his father would never really respect him again. "The sub's place is in the home," John had said many times while they were on jobs, as though somehow they'd brought the ghost or werewolf or whatever down on themselves by daring to think that they could work in the 'real world' like a dom.

Instead of crying though, he took a deep, shaky breath, and sat on his bed. For a moment, he could only stare at the blue cotton stretched around his wrist. But he knew by now, the name would be fully formed. He’d have to switch out to his permanent cuff, the one his father had come home a year ago and tossed at him, and told him to keep with his stuff. The name. He traced the small band of skin under the cuff that he knew had the name of his soulmate. The one he was destined to fit perfectly. .He swallowed hard, and hooked his thumb under the stretchy band, pulling it over his hand before he could second guess himself.  
The name was raised and red, a hot welt like someone had scratched it in with the end of a needle. _Castiel Novak._ Dean’s face paled. He’d known that he liked guys, even if he couldn’t quite admit it to himself, but this… The idea of _submitting_ to a man? That somehow this guy he’d never met was his _soulmate_ and wanted to _own_ him and.. He felt himself starting to panic. “Reel it in, Winchester,” he told himself firmly. Then he stood up and went to his dresser, digging through the underwear drawer for the simple black leather cuff his father had tossed at him. He wrapped it around his wrist and fastened it tight. He couldn’t help but stare at it. How long after he got home would it take dad to notice? What was going to happen when he did? It was enough to make his stomach twist again.

Clenching his fist, Dean went out to the kitchen to start his homework, his backpack banging against his hip as he went. He was going to put whoever this Castiel Novak was as far out of his mind as possible. Who the hell names their kid ‘Castiel’ anyway?

Dean stared at his algebra homework for what seemed like forever, until he heard the familiar rumble of the Impala in the parking lot. He stood up quickly, sweeping his homework into his backpack and going to toss it into his room; he’d have time to finish later. By the time dad was walking up the steps to their apartment, Dean had pulled the chicken breasts from the fridge and had started a pan of hot olive oil to fry them in.

“Hey dad,” he called over his shoulder when he heard the door open. “I’ve got dinner going, why don’t you shower?” It was easy, routine, to reach for a can of peas, the box of instant mashed potatoes. Dean made dinner because dad worked late. Dad showered when he walked in… Dean didn’t really care how other families did it; this worked for them. 

John Winchester simply grunted as he walked past the kitchen door. He never was very chatty when he first got home. A few minutes later, the sound of water running could be heard through the bathroom door. Dean let out a sigh of relief. Dad was busy, that meant they could put off the inevitable just a little longer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I'm so overwhelmed by the response to this story! Thank you all so much! Once again, this is un-beta'd. I hope I can continue to live up to your expectations.

When John Winchester emerged from his room after his shower, dried and dressed in clean clothes, Dean had finished setting up dinner. His father was very particular, and Dean wasn’t stupid. The older hunter was a good man, but he had a short fuse, and Dean didn’t want to be the one to light it tonight.

“Hey dad,” Dean said, opening his father’s beer even though the last thing he wanted was to add alcohol to the confrontation he knew they were going to have much sooner than he wanted. When John merely grunted, Dean took the chance to serve him up a plate of food, and sit down across from him.

“How was work?” Dean hated small talk, especially on nights when he could tell that his father wasn’t in a good mood. But if he _didn’t_ keep up the conversation, his father would certainly know what was going on, and Dean _really_ didn’t want that yet.

“Some asshole too big for his britches said I screwed up the spark plugs on his Camero. Spark plugs!” Ah, the root of the problem. John was a good mechanic; he’d kept their Impala running for over twenty years, and that included fixing it up after at least one wreck. Dean could see why someone accusing him of being less than thorough on a simple fix might set him off. Dean self-consciously tugged the hem of his sleeve a little further over his cuff.

Unfortunately, his movement caught his father’s attention, and John’s eyes narrowed. “Dean,” he said, his voice much lower than usual. “What is on your wrist?” His question held the tone suggesting that Dean needed to have an answer right away, and it better be the answer he wanted, not the one he thought he was going to get. 

Dean swallowed hard. It was now or never. “I…” He’d never been as good at presenting a front to his father as he was at the rest of the world. “I presented today at school,” he said finally, forcing a cheery smile onto his face. Shit. This was so bad. So _so_ bad. 

It took a moment for John’s thoughts to process onto his face, and in that moment he set his beer down just a _tad_ harder than he should have. “Your cuff is on your right wrist, Dean,” he said, and Dean shivered at the cold tone in his father’s voice. 

Dean nodded, trying to keep his smile on his face. “Yeah, dad, it is,” he said, because what else could he say? He braced himself, but wasn’t prepared for John pushing away from the table, grabbing his beer as he went.

“I’m not hungry,” the older man said as he headed for the bedroom. “Clean this mess up and then go to your room and do your homework. I can’t look at you anymore.”

Dean felt his father’s words go through him like a knife. He stared down the hall at his father’s retreating form, and finally, as he heard his father’s door slam, he didn’t try to stop the tears. 

He cried as he packed up the remainder of the food, soft sniffling cries. God. Winchesters don’t cry. Winchesters don’t cry… But the tears kept coming. He’d managed to hope until that minute, that his father would accept him, tolerate him. It wasn’t until he was faced with that slamming door that reality slammed home. He was a _sub_ , and nothing was _ever_ going to be the same again.

He made his and his father’s lunch from the leftovers, like he did every day, and then washed the dishes. By the time he’d finished putting those away, he was finally done crying. He knew his face was red, and his nose dripped. He hadn’t felt so much like a child in years.

In his room, he obediently started his homework, since he didn’t want to piss his dad off any more than he already was. Eventually, exhausted emotionally and physically, he drifted off to sleep at his desk.

The next morning when he emerged after his shower, he found an empty house. He fiddled with the band of his cuff, only stopping when he saw a note on the counter in his dad’s handwriting. 

_Working late. Going out after. Don’t wait up for me._

_John_

It was close, but he didn’t cry again. He crumpled the note and threw it in the trash, not wanting to stare at his father’s name where it used to say ‘dad’. 

School was a new kind of hell he’d never imagined. The jocks cornered him within fifteen minutes of homeroom,and he found himself quickly in the unfamiliar position of having to follow through on his threat to kick some ass. Three jocks down, the rest of them took a step back, but he found himself with a new problem: suitors who thought he needed to be ‘taken down’. He hadn’t thought of school as a dangerous place before, but he was slammed into more lockers, by girls and boys alike, by the end of the day. There were only so many times he could take it, and he found himself in the principal’s office with three days of after school detention for starting fights. 

He didn’t see his dad for the rest of that week; he served his after school’s without complaint, and without fail came home to his father still out; the man was gone every morning when he woke up. It wasn’t until Saturday, his dad’s first day off, that he saw the man again. John was carrying things out to the Impala when Dean woke up.

“I’m going on a hunt,” he said without preamble when Dean walked into the kitchen. “I’ll be home in a week or two. Stay in school, and there better not be any more detentions, you understand?” 

Dean felt his heart clench. Dad was going on a hunt, which wasn’t really anything new, but he’d never felt so… Abandoned. The man could barely _look_ at him, let alone stay in the same house. “Yeah, dad, sure,” he said, forcing bravado. _Maybe when he gets back, he’ll be able to look at me,_ Dean thought morosely.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I just want to thank you again for sticking with me... It's awesome to see how many people really like this story!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter in particular; the beginning scene is just a LITTLE dubious consent. Nothing super sexual and nothing really graphic but I feel like it might be triggery for people, so just be warned!

Dean clenched his hands against the ropes holding him down. He lay spread eagled across the bed, his ass up in the air.  
_Thwack!_ A belt landed across his already red cheeks and he bit back a yowl. “T-ten,” he groaned out, swallowing hard. 

He squirmed a little bit as he waited for whatever would come next; this time it was a hand coming down across the welts. “Sit still, boy.” Dean froze instantly; he didn’t want to be punished again. There was something about being tied down, helpless, that made this so much worse than the whoopings John had given him over the years. He buried his face in the comforter as those fingers probed his ass, tried to concentrate on the rope burn and hot sting across his back and thighs. He whimpered as ungentle fingers rubbed on the welts. 

“Please, sir,” he mumbled, remembering the honorific just in time. Sir. John was sir. This… kid… had done nothing to deserve the name. Dean swallowed hard. “My dad will kill me if I’m late again. I need to go home.”

The young man standing above him heaved a sigh. The hands disappeared from his ass, and the looming presence shifted away. “Whatever, Winchester,” he said, reaching for the knots on the ropes “You were a shitty sub anyway; it’s like you’ve never been spanked before or something.”

Dean sat up as quickly as he was able, hiding the momentary dizziness from being bent over for so long. He didn’t waste time rubbing at the red rash from the rope (he hadn’t _exactly_ been play fighting when Tim was tying him down,) and instead moved to dress himself quickly. He tried to ignore the stab of hurt that shot through his chest when he listened to Tim.

“Yeah, well, you weren’t so hot yourself.” His instant defensive tone just earned him a dismissive snort from the dom, but Dean didn’t care. He didn’t have time to care; John really _would_ be pissed if he was out too late, especially if he was out late for a ‘scene’. 

They’d come to an agreement, the last year or so. Dean didn’t say what he was doing, and John tried to pretend he had a son that was _worth_ something. Things had gotten better, sure, since they’d moved and Dean had dropped out of high school. He could contribute more to hunts if he was home doing research, and he was pretty good at passing for eighteen, even though he’d just turned sixteen. He worked a little, at the garage where his dad had gotten a part time job, but mostly he did the research and kept up the house. It worked for them. Really.

If Dean missed school, well, who cares? GEDs exist for a reason, after all. As for people, well, Dean still found plenty of time to flirt and meet new people. Dad was gone a lot, and Dean… He needed to know. Needed to try to figure out what it all meant. He’d tried domming a few times, with other subs who didn’t know what they wanted, either. God. Those had been trainwrecks. But just as bad were the times Dean tried to sub. He couldn’t get into the scene, could barely follow orders, like dad always threw in his face. 

He shivered in the chill autumn air as he stepped out of Tim’s house, glad the older boy’s parents weren’t home to catch them. He had so much research to do. _”You’re a shitty sub.”_ The words rang through his head now that he was alone. They echoed the words dad had said on more than one occasion. _”You can barely follow orders, boy. No self respecting Dom would want someone like you.”_ He wrapped his arms around himself, and felt the cuff on his wrist press against his chest.

 _Castiel Novak._ The name had become more of a taunt. Dean knew that he’d never be good enough for Castiel, whoever he was. He was a horrible sub. He never, ever fell into subspace. _”Probably a myth,”_ he thought to himself as he strode toward his own apartment building a few blocks away. _”I don’t know how people can like that shit…_ He couldn’t deny that the pain was arousing… A little. But it always seemed to turn degrading, painful and violent in a bad way. Whoever Castiel was, he deserved someone liked that, who wanted it. It wouldn’t be fair to ask him to take in someone broken and worthless, like Dean.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Two weeks after his eighteenth birthday, John and Dean pulled up in front of a ramshackle little house on the outskirts of Stanford, California. Dean grabbed his duffel and followed his dad inside. It wasn’t as bad as the outside seemed to suggest; the walls were a little musty, but it was mostly clean, with wood floors and curtains that, while they could use a wash, certainly weren’t falling off the rods.

From what he could see when he first walked in, there was a kitchen, a bathroom, a bedroom, and a living room; everything seemed to work off of a fairly open floor plan. That was bad, from a defensive standpoint, but he could figure out what he was going to do about that later. Used to managing the house, Dean automatically began to catalog the things he needed to do. Scrub the counters and the floors, wash the windows and the curtains, get a vacuum from somewhere to do the couch... At least it was _furnished_. Some places weren't, and that meant a lot of nights on the floor for him. Grocery shopping was a must, and so was going through the pots and pans. If they were staying more than a week, he'd definitely need to get to a thrift store for more kitchen supplies.

He set his bag down inside the door. “Nice place,” he commented, just a little bit sarcastically. He was used to motels, since dropping out of school had meant less need to rent apartments. A house was a big step up.

John nodded. “Glad you think so,” he said, pressing a key into Dean’s palm, along with a couple hundred dollars. “You’ll be staying here for a while.”

Dean blinked. “What? What kind of a hunt are we on?”

John shook his head. “Listen, Dean-o… It’s a rough world out there. Rougher, for subs. It was bad enough when you were a kid, but at least then I could order you to stay in the apartment and trust that you’d do it. Now?” He snorted. “You can’t follow orders to save your life, and I mean that. But if you don’t follow any other one, I want you to follow this one. Stay here. I’ll call you when I need help. Stanford has a great library, and I’m sure you’ll be able to find a job within walking distance. The house is free, a gift from a friend. You’ll be fine. I’ll call every week, okay?”

That patronizing tone, the one that always made Dean want to stomp and curse and remind John that _I’m a sub, not a goddamned child!_ had entered his father’s voice. Of course, stomping and cursing wouldn’t do any good, and Dean swallowed hard. “Yessir.” Because what else could he say?

He felt the sour twist of abandonment in his gut, so much worse than the first hunt John had gone on after he’d presented, when he’d left Dean in their apartment alone to go out and do a salt and burn. Easy, routine, something John previously would have welcomed help with. That had been bad, a visceral reminder that he was Less Than He’d Been Before. But now? Now he was to be abandoned in some goddamn college town? Not even… He couldn’t even go along for the _ride_. It made his stomach twist. But he nodded again, and watched from the porch as John got in the Impala and drove away. Alone. 

Then he turned and walked inside, closing the door behind him. For the second time since he’d declared, Dean felt the tears begin to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand more sad Dean! :( But don't worry, we're on the up swing! Next chapter: Sam and Cas!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the positive response! You guys are totally keeping me going; you guys rock!
> 
> A little bit of dub con in this chapter too. Be warned!
> 
> Anyway.... Here's Sam! Enjoy!

“Dean! I’ve got another one coming in; brake pads this time. Think you can handle it on your own? I’m already running late and if I miss another one of Sue’s appointments, I think she’s gonna kill me.”

Dean laughed at his boss’ predicament. “Go, go,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve changed my share of brake pads, Mal. Don’t let Sue kill you, I need the job.” He headed toward the bay where the car was on its way in. “I’ll be fine, and anyway, there’s only a couple hours left today. I’ll finish this up and get everyone else set up with appointments, okay?”

Malcolm Burman, a tall, burly man with curly red hair, smiled gratefully at Dean. “Thanks, kid, you’re a real gem.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. Really. It’s a wonder some lucky top hasn’t snapped you up already.”

Dean laughed and waved him away. “Go, go. Your domme needs you. Anyway, I have enough going on here without adding dating to the mix.” There was another reason Dean liked the big man so much. Dean had never met another sub as happy with his life as Malcolm seemed to be. Successful, smart, easy going. It made Dean feel safe when he was at the garage. And Mal was free with his praise, something that never failed to give Dean a little twist of pleasure in his stomach. 

Mal noded and turned away. “Right, right. I still think it’s crazy someone hasn’t snapped you up, but you can’t blame a guy for trying. Okay, I’m off. Did I tell you that today they’re going to show us the sex of the baby? We’ll finally find out if it’s a Sue junior or a Malcolm the second!”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, well, whichever it is, you’ll be great. I’m sure of it. Now go! Before you’re late!”

Mal nodded again and hurried out of the shop. Dean chuckled as he headed toward the front of the garage to let the guy know how long it would take on his brakes. He rounded the corner and found himself facing one of the tallest people he’d ever seen. He blinked, and put on his most charming smile, the one he saved for wooing customers. “Hello mister..” He glanced at the paper on the desk, glad only one person was in right now. “Campbell.I’m Dean, taking over for Malcolm. You’re here for your brake pads, yeah? It’s just gonna take like, thirty minutes, tops, okay?”

The young man looked up at him and grinned. “Thanks, Dean. And it’s Sam, please. Mister Campbell is my grandfather. Don’t worry, take your time. I’ve got my homework with me so I’ll just hang out and work on it, okay?” 

Dean nodded at the young dom, and tapped some keys on his keyboard. “Alright, Sam. Well I’ll be done as soon as I can.” He categorized the younger man as he turned back toward the garage itself, to where the car was already up on the lift.

Ford Focus, at least ten years old, hatchback. In decent shape on the outside; Sam looked like a freshman, probably going to Stanford, so this was probably someone else’s car. Inherited, or bought cheap for a ‘first car’. It looked like Sam tried to take care of it, at least. That was one thing Dean liked in a person, if they tried to take care of their car. Cars were important, expensive, and Dean found that people who took good care of their cars tended to take good care of the people in their lives, too.

He began the routine process of switching out the brake pads, and let his mind wander. Malcolm’s words resonated, as they usually did. Everyone at work, well, _both_ of his jobs, always was pressuring him to go out. He rarely told them when he did. 

The last time he’d gone out, much like the time before that, and the time before that, he’d just been faced with how many ways he failed as a sub.

 _“Mm…” Rough fingers pinched his nipples, twisting, before clamps fixed on them. Dean hissed, but kept his mouth obediently closed. “These would be so much prettier if they were pierced.” Dean whimpered again, knowing that he really couldn’t speak; he_ had _learned that lesson. Still, it was disheartening. He wasn’t good enough. Again._

 _The bigger man above him, the one who still wasn’t Castiel, would_ never _be Castiel, because Dean wasn’t good enough for Castiel, twisted the clamps enough to pull a small cry from Dean’s lips. “Ooh, look at you, pretty. All trussed up for me… Are you gonna be good for me?”_

 _Dean nodded, all he could do given how he was tied up. Maybe this time he’d learn enough to be good. To_ be _enough. So he submitted to teasing touches, to twisting nipples, to hot wax and a stinging crop. And at the end of it, he stood up, rubbed his wrists and put on his shirt, hissing a little at the soreness on his chest and abs. And he went home, alone, and curled up in the little bed in the back bedroom._

Before he knew it, Dean realized he was done with the brakes, and he shook his head to clear it. Right. Definitely a reason he didn't date much; totally not worth it. He glanced down at his chest, flushing when he realized he actually _was_ considering what his nipples would look like if they were pierced. 

Shaking his head, he headed out again, wiping his hands on his overalls as he did. “Sam?” He smiled at the young dom bent over his books in the lobby of the garage. “The brakes are done. They’ll be one-oh-five thirty,” he said, writing up the bill.

Sam winced as he packed up his notebooks into his backpack. “Ouch. Glad I picked up some extra hours at the tutoring center this week.” He pulled out his wallet, digging for his card, passing it over to Dean.

“Yeah, I can imagine. I’m sorry. Wish it was cheaper, dude.”

Sam laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, it is what it is.”

Dean scanned the card and passed it back; as Sam put it in his wallet a small photograph fell out onto the counter, sliding toward Dean.

He picked it up; it was old weathered; he glanced at it for just a second as he handed it over, but froze as his eyes fell on a very familiar sight: John’s face. A much younger John Winchester, sitting with a young Dean on his lap. A blond woman sat next to him, holding a baby in her arms. Dean recognized her, too, though he didn’t remember any baby. In the photo he kept in _his_ wallet, Mary sat with baby Dean in her arms.

“Dude.” 

Something in his tone must have triggered something, because Sam looked up at him. “Woah, hey, are you okay? You’re really pale.”

Dean shook his head with a blink as Sam took the picture back. “That’s… That’s my dad. I mean…” He shook his head again, and reached back for his wallet.

“I don’t get it. Mom never really talks about my dad,” Sam said, shaking his head. “But I think she would have mentioned if he had another kid.”

Dean shook his head again, and pulled the small photo from his wallet, passing it over to Sam. “Same woman. I… Dude.” He gripped the counter hard, trying to catch his breath. “I think we’re brothers.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone! I hope it's been an awesome day for you! In this chapter, Dean acts a little more Dean-y, in my opinion. I hope you agree! And I hope it's coming across how being in a mostly supportive environment is making him a little more secure in himself.
> 
> Enjoy!

Dean watched as Sam stared at the two photos side by side, as if trying to reconcile everything he’d ever been told with the fact that his _mechanic_ had just pulled a picture of his own mother from his wallet. He looked up, and Dean felt his stomach churn again; he really didn’t feel any better. 

“Woah, woah. Why don’t you sit down?” The gentle command in Sam’s voice, despite how breathy it was, was enough to make Dean comply without really thinking. Sam didn’t look that much better than Dean himself did, so that made it okay to take a minute to get control. He sat on the stool behind the desk, tucking his chin and breathing for a couple of moments. He had a little brother. He had a little brother and he’d _forgotten_ him. How fucked up can you get?

“Your mom’s name… Is it Mary?” Dean looked up at Sam, swallowing hard as he prayed for the answer to be Jill, or Lucy, or any fucking thing else but Mary. Maybe she had a twin. Or some weird… doppelganger. Dean had seen weirder. 

But Sam nodded. “Yeah. Mary Campbell; but I know it’s her maiden name. I mean, I didn’t think she’d ever been married, but maybe she was?”

Dean took another deep breath, and the panic, if that’s what it was, began to recede. He met Sam’s gaze evenly, finally, and stuck out his hand. The cocky grin that had been his defense mechanism since the fifth grade slid onto his lips.

“Hi there,” he said, waiting until Sam shook his hand to continue. “The name’s Dean. Dean Winchester. I’m your big brother.”

Sam laughed a little bit, and the shakiness disappeared a little from his smile. “Hi, Dean. I’m Sam Campbell. It’s nice to meet you.”

Dean straightened up a little bit. “Yeah, same here, Sam. Wow. I never… I mean, when I moved up here, I never thought I’d end up meeting… Yeah. Who thinks they have a surprise kid brother, huh?”

Sam chuckled again, and when he spoke he was much steadier. “Yeah, man. Wow. I really can’t believe it, but in a good way! I really want to get to know you.” He met Dean’s gaze, and Dean felt himself smiling a little more genuinely. “I’ve always been an only child, and I always wanted a big brother.”

Dean nodded. “I mean… I was what, four or something, in that picture?” He shook his head. “How the hell do you forget a little brother?”

Sam reached out, squeezing Dean’s shoulder gently. “Hey, don’t be too rough on yourself. I mean, it must have been pretty traumatic, to wake up one day and have us just be… Gone.” He smiled ruefully. “I know that if I just woke up and had two members of my family disappear, I’d be pretty shocked, too. And you were little… I can see how you would pretend we didn’t exist, just to make your world view work.”

Dean snorted. “Well. When you put it that way.” He shifted and stood up, feeling much less shaky. “Listen, I have to get back to work.” He reached down for one of their business cards, and scrawled his name and phone number on the back. “That’s my cell. Are you free some time this week? I’d like to do dinner or something, get to know you.”

Sam smiled as he took the card. “I’d like that a lot. Are you free Thursday? Say like, seven o’clock? I’m done with my last tutoring gig at six, that would get me time to get home and drop off my stuff.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, Thursday works.” He shook Sam’s hand. “It’s great to meet you, Sam,” he said earnestly. “Really.”

Sam nodded. “You too, Dean. I’ll be in touch.” With one more lingering look over his shoulder, he headed out the door. Dean watched him go, still reeling with the new knowledge, “I have a brother.”

The next morning, Dean went in early. He’d barely slept the night before, and when he woke up, there didn’t seem to be much reason to sit around. So he headed to the garage, and got to work with some of their more complex cases that were still around. When Malcolm came in a few hours later, Dean was already hard at work. “Mornin’, boss,” he said cheerily when Malcolm came in.

“Morning, Dean! You’re in early! Have a rough night?” Dean sometimes would come in when he had a bad night, or just couldn’t stand to be alone any longer. Malcolm had gotten used to it, and often he’d just make a pot of coffee for them so they could get the busiest part of the day over with.

“Not exactly.” He looked over. “I, ah… Just had a bit of a shock last night, that’s all.” Malcolm was a good friend, but Dean wasn’t sure how much of the thing with Sam he was willing to share yet. He reached for a wrench. “But enough about me. What about your appointment? What’s the verdict? Is it a Malcolm the second, or a Sue Junior?”

At that, Mal smiled brightly, always willing to talk about himself. “It’s a Sue Junior,” he said with a proud puff of his chest. “In five more months, we’re going to have a brand new mechanic around here.”

Dean laughed, glad to have a change of topic. “I’m glad to hear it, though you might wanna wait a couple of weeks after she’s born to put a wrench in her hand.”

“That’s true,” Mal said, still grinning. “Sue might not approve if I was too eager with that.” 

The two of them worked in silence for a while, until the doorbell jingled. Dean looked up and saw that Malcolm was elbow deep in an engine. “I’ve got it, boss,” he said, putting down his wrench and heading for the counter.

A burly guy he vaguely recognized as someone he’d changed some spark plugs for earlier in the week stood at the counter. Dean felt his stomach clench. “Hello sir, what can I do for you?” He put on his most charming smile, but remembered how the guy had been a pain in the ass the whole time he’d been in the shop, and despite Dean telling him that he really needed some other parts, because just changing the corroded parts wouldn’t be enough, the man had informed him that he ‘only needed the spark plugs’. Dean could already tell that what he’d warned him about was occurring, and the car needed more work.

“You! You little incompetent piece of shit! I had my car in here _three days ago_ and it’s already breaking down again! What the fuck is wrong with you? I’m going to get you fired!”

Dean blinked, and squared his shoulders. “Sir, I need you to calm down,” he said, trying to take control over the situation again. “I remember you coming in, and I warned you that there were a couple of things you needed done; you said you didn’t want them. I’m sorry that your car needs more work, but we’re happy to do it for you, if you speak to me calmly.”

He narrowed his eyes as the man straightened up. “You’re a piece of shit sub,” the man said, slamming his hands on the counter. “And I don’t know why a _slut_ like you thinks he can make it in the _real_ world. I want to speak to your boss! If you hadn’t fucked up my car, it would still be running!”

Dean gripped the edge of the counter. “You can speak to my boss, but I will thank you to keep comments about my sexuality to yourself.” He was a decent actor, if he did say so himself, and the last couple of years working with Mal had helped him to get more… More of a backbone. Years of living with John had instilled an immediate ‘yessir’ reaction, but he had grown to get the ability to stand up for himself without throwing a punch. 

Luckily, Mal had heard the commotion and came out a few moments later, wiping his hands on a rag. “What can I do for you, sir?” His voice was deceptively soft, and Dean recognized it from the few times Mal had really been angry.

“This useless sub fucked up my car!” The man’s voice was hard and angry again, and Dean watched as Mal’s eyes narrowed. 

“I thank you for leaving my mechanic’s dynamic out of this conversation. As I recall, he offered several times to provide needed maintenance for you. You refused. Now, if you would like, I can refer you to another mechanic who will be willing to fix your car for you. We will not be accepting your business any longer.” He put his hand on the counter, displaying the cuff on his right wrist. The man’s eyes widened, and he took a step back.

“Goddamn subs! I wouldn’t trust a referral from you anyway!” WIth that, he spun away, sputtering.

Dean watched, and let out a shaky breath as the door closed. “Fuck. Thanks, boss,” he said gratefully. Could he have dealt with the guy? Probably. Did he want to? No, not really.

Mal snorted. “Assholes like that, I don’t want their business. Now come on, I need another pair of hands.”

They headed into the back, and Dean let himself get lost in the wash of the routine, working mostly in silence.

After a little while, Dean spoke up. “So, random question.” He flashed a grin, letting Mal know he was being mostly facetious. “What do you think of piercings? Like… Nipples?”

Mal threw his head back and laughed. “Wow, kid, when you ask a question, you ask a question. But to answer it… Well. Best thing I ever did.” He grinned teasingly. “It looks great, and once they heal, they’re fun to play with. But don’t let anyone play with them for at _least_ six months. Really.”

Dean flushed, but he knew Mal was a good resource, and wouldn’t steer him wrong. That was why Dean valued him as a friend so much. “Well. Thanks. I think.” They chatted about other things until lunch time, when Mal sat him down and poured him a cup of coffee. 

“If you want to get them pierced, I’ll give you the name of a really good guy. I don’t want you out for days because of an infection.”

Dean chuckled faintly. “Well, thanks, Mal,” he said. “I’ll take the number. I’m still thinking about it…” But since that confrontation that morning, his mind kept drifting to ways he could make himself a better sub. Like standing up for himself was even worse than being bad in bed, but if he could make up for one, he could manage the other.

That night, after he finished at work, he called the number that Mal gave him. “Hi, this is Get to the Point, you’re talking to Bridget, how can I help you?” The cheery girl on the other end of the line seemed just a _little_ too happy for being at a piercing shop at seven at night.

“Uh, hi, Bridget, my name’s Dean… I got your number from Mal Burman. I was hoping you’d have an opening soon to get my nipples done?” 

The voice on the other end took a moment before she answered. “Yeah. You could come in tonight any time between now and eight thirty. Our piercer is wide open. Or else there are a couple other nights this week?”

Dean blinked, then decided _now or never_. “I’ll be in at like… eight. I have to shower and change.” Not that she cared. He kicked himself for that slip of the tongue, but Bridget just laughed. 

“That’s fine. I’ll pencil you in. See you then.”

Dean didn’t waste time, and headed into the shower to get washed up. By eight on the nose he was at the piercing shop. As he had expected, given somewhere that Mal had suggested, it was clean and well lit. He got out of the car, heading inside. 

“Hey, I'm Dean? I’ve got an appointment with the piercer?”

A girl looked up from the counter. She had short dark hair, piercings up both ears and tattoos up each arm. When she stood up, her tall heels clicked on the tile floor. “Yeah, Dean, hi, come on back. Mina’s ready for you.” Her cuff declared her a domme, but the piercer that emerged from the back room had a flamboyant, neon yellow cuff on her right hand. Sub. That made Dean relax, as it always did. The pressure was just… less, with other subs. No one cared if he acted _just_ right with them.

The piercer’s bright yellow hair matched her cuff, and it was spiked up in a taller mohawk than Dean had ever seen. Her tight black leather pants went up legs that seemed to go on forever. Her sparkly silver tank top was covered by a short sleeved jacket, showing off the tattoos on her arms. Overall, she was the kind of bad girl that once upon a time Dean had wooed as often as he could; they promised an evening that just didn’t stop.

“Alright Dean,” she said, urging him toward the back. She closed the door and motioned for him to take off his shirt. “Let me see what we’re working with.”

He shed his over shirt, and pulled his tank over his head without a qualm. “Never a problem with a pretty lady,” he said, grinning, his teasing smile coming naturally as it had in high school before he presented.

She just laughed, and grabbed an alcohol wipe and cleaned off his nipples. “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she said, teasing right back as she used the disposable marker to place a dot on each side of each nipple. “Alright, there’s a mirror over there. Go tell me if you think they look even.”

Dean did as he was told, and agreed that they looked right, so Mina pointed to her table.

“Alright, hop up. Lean back and try to relax. The worst part is the clamping; it’s gonna hurt like a bitch. But I’m lightening fast, okay? I’ll be done in just a sec.”

Dean nodded, and closed his eyes. His mind wandered, imagining how this could be.

 _Castiel’s hand closed around his, while Mina gathered her supplies. The first clamp went on, Dean hissed and clenched his fingers around Cas’ hand. But his dom leaned over, whispering in his ear._ “You’re such a good boy, Dean… You’re going to look so good for me… Watching you do this. I’m so proud of you. Just relax for me…” _Dean felt himself drifting, sliding toward something... Subspace?_ and was startled out of the day dream by the first needle going through.

“Oh, shit shit…” The sharp pain seemed to lance across his entire chest, and he clenched his hand against the edge of the table. “Fuck you weren’t kidding…” And he couldn’t help the thought that Castiel should have been there. But he wasn’t; wouldn’t ever be. But that phantom voice in his ear, whispering _”you’re such a good boy”_ got him through the second needle. 

“Alright, sweetie, you’re all done.” Mina smiled, patting his shoulder as he grunted a little bit. 

“I knew that was gonna hurt,” he said as he sat up. “But fuck, that _hurt_.” 

She laughed,, shaking her head. “Yeah, the second one is always worse. But you did really good. Get dressed and come on out, we’ll get you a set of after-care instructions, okay?” 

Dean nodded, and a couple of minutes later he’d gotten his washing instructions, his care instructions,and a strict order to ice them as soon as he got home. 

When he climbed into bed that night, his nipples ached, and he curled up in the bed, his mind drifting once more to that place he’d been when he sat on the piercing table. A phantom hand pushed through his hair. _”You’re such a good boy for me, Dean… Such a good boy._ ” That in his head, he drifted into sleep. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! Better late than never. There may be a pause in the updates this weekend, I'm going out of town. I'll do my darndest to get them out to you all, though. Enjoy!

Wednesday evening, Dean got a text from a strange number. Opening it, he smiled; of course Sam would text.

_Hey. It’s Sam. How’s Rosie’s, corner of Fifth and Edding, at seven tomorrow night?_

Dean added Sam’s number, and smiled as he tapped out a reply.

_Italian’s always a winner. See you then._

He finished changing clothes, dressing in a tight black tee shirt, a pair of black jeans, and rubbing some gel into his hair to spike it up. Working a couple nights a week at The Black Cat, the local bar, brought in plenty of extra money, or at least enough so he had spending money. He was a damn good bartender, and made good tips, so between Mal and the bar, he got by just fine. But that didn’t mean that it was always _easy_ , and Thursday mornings kind of sucked, since he had to work both jobs on Wednesdays and Fridays. 

Still, it was a good job, and Dean wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He headed out the door, grateful again that the house _was_ within walking distance of town. Kind of made it suck when it rained, but having no car meant that he was free to use that as an excuse whenever he wanted.

The walk to the bar only took about twenty five minutes, and Dean appreciated how it helped him stay fit, to walk as much as he did. His lovers in the past had commented on how Dean was well proportioned, and between the working out he did at home, and his two jobs, Dean knew he looked good. If only the rest of him was as good as that part.

“Hey Tracy,” Dean said, grinning as he stepped in the door and headed for the bar. Wednesday nights were easy. Usually quiet, mostly well behaved. 

"Hey Pretty," she said, looking up at him with a smile. "Lookin' good tonight. You're gonna rake in the tips tonight!" 

Dean laughed at the comment. "Thanks, Tracy, you don't look so bad yourself." The waitress had her long brown hair down around her shoulders, and wore a tight black dress that showed off her assets.

They fell into an easy routine, Tracy mostly waitressing and working the floor, Dean working the bar. Midway through the night, a young man sat across from him at the bar. Dean looked up from the drink he was mixing into the bluest eyes he had ever seen. 

"Hey there," Dean said. It always felt a little strange to him, how easily he could fall into the old routine of flirting when he was here at the bar. The bar was safe in a different way than the garage was. He _could_ flirt here. Everyone expected a sub to flirt, and flirt with everyone. Nothing he did was wrong, as long as he served good drinks and kept it behind the bar. 

That in mind, he felt free to practice, to judge what worked and what didn’t. Dean hadn’t stopped being a good judge of people when he presented. And blue eyes; well. If he hadn’t decided to swear off Doms for a while, he would totally be the kind of bed Dean would fall into. That quiet kind of control that _totally_ turned him on. He shifted and focused on the man who was sitting across from him. “What can I getcha, blue eyes?”

The stranger smiled, and Dean felt his heart give a flip. Wow. That _never_ happened. “I would like a rum and coke, please,” he said, leaning on the bar. 

“Rum and coke? Coming up.” He poured the rum into the glass, maybe being a little more flamboyant than usual, and then filled the rest of the cup with the coke, passing it across to the other man. He purposely let their fingers brush together as they did. “Five even.”

The stranger pulled out his wallet, and passed across a ten. “Keep the change.”

Dean smiled, nodding as he made the change and tucked the extra in his pocket. “Big tipper,” he teased. “I like that in a man.”

Blue eyes smiled more broadly; the crooked grin made Dean flush. That in itself was unusual. Who was this guy? “Yes, well, good service deserves to be rewarded.”

Dean chuckled, and leaned on the bar. There weren’t many people there, given that it was a Wednesday night, so that meant Dean could chat a little more. “Right. Well, I’m glad to be of service… However you need.”

The man sipped at his drink, and gave Dean a long, appraising look. “You could start by giving me your name.”

Dean never gave his name to the men he went home with; he didn’t think it was smart, and since he never went out with them twice, it hardly seemed to matter. “My name? You can call me Pretty.” He grinned, shifting and leaning against the bar a little differently. He bit back a hiss as the tight shirt pressed against his newly pierced nipples. The pain was an unwelcome distraction from the stranger’s blue eyes, but the fact that you could see the barbells through the fabric was a definite plus. Dean felt the man’s gaze sweep across his chest again before their eyes met a second time.

“Pretty, hmm? It’s fitting.” He smiled and sipped his coke again. “I suppose if that’s the way we’re doing this… You can call me… Angel.” He held out his hand, and Dean shook it.

“Angel, huh? Like the angel of… What? I’m afraid I’m not so up on my angel lore.”

Angel laughed. “Well neither am I, but my mother was quite enamored of them. “

Dean was about to answer, when he saw someone else approach the bar. “Sorry, hold that thought.” He headed over and served the young woman, then came back, not really even pausing to flirt with her. 

“So, Angel. Tell me about yourself.”

Angel sipped his drink again, seeming to consider his words carefully. “Well, I am a sophomore at Stanford. I study Art History; I would like to earn my doctorate and teach one day. I live with a friend and his girlfriend. “ He paused for a moment. “And yourself, Pretty? What is someone as lovely as you doing in such a place?”

Dean flushed at the praise, surprised he was so affected by this man. But he shrugged a little. “Not much to tell. I’m a mechanic by day, bartender by night. I’m local, and, uh, that’s really it.” It was more than he would usually share, but he was feeling loose and happy. Between chatting with Mal, meeting Sam, and feeling safe in the bar, well. This stranger was getting to see a rare side of Dean. Besides, it wasn’t like they were going to _do anything_.

Angel smiled. “Well, Pretty, I’m glad to hear that you seem to be happy. It just wouldn’t do for someone as perfect as you to be unhappy.”

Dean blinked. “Wow. Perfect?” He shook his head. “Far be it from me to say a paying customer is wrong, but…” He shrugged. “I’m not sure you know me well enough to say perfect.” And really, the guy had _no_ idea how screwed up Dean was. It made a little twist in his stomach to hear the heavy handed flirting.

Angel reached across the bar, not quite touching Dean’s hand. “Come now, Pretty… Trust me. I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.”

Dean swallowed, and his smile was a little more forced now. “Yeah, well. We’ll agree to disagree. But hey, enough about me. Tell me about art.”

Angel seemed to want to say more, but instead, he changed topics like Dean asked. “Art is a very… broad topic, Pretty,” he said, chuckling. “Well. How about I start with my favorite period?”

Dean leaned against the counter again, relaxing now that the topic was lighter. He could focus just on Angel’s voice, and the way his blue eyes glinted when he was getting into the conversation. It was with some disappointment that he occasionally had to step away from Angel and his distracting smile to serve other patrons.

Angel kept up his conversation until nearly eleven o’clock, ordering another two drinks. Finally he had to push away from the bar. “Well, it’s been wonderful talking to you, Pretty,” he said, sliding his glass back. “But I have an early class tomorrow.” He held out his hand to Dean. “Do you work again this week?”

Dean blinked. Not asking for his number, not asking when he gets off? That was a first. Enough to get him an honest answer, and not a gentle blow off. “Yeah, I do. All weekend, actually.” He found himself flushing again when Angel took his hand and kissed the top of it. 

“In that case, Pretty, I’ll be back on Friday.” He shrugged into a long tan trench coat and headed to the door. Dean watched him go,with his eyes practically magnetized to him. He startled when Tracy came up behind him and touched his shoulder. 

“Who was that, Pretty?” She grinned. “A new boy? He’s a pretty one, too.”

Dean laughed. “Naw, just a flirt, you know how they get around a pretty face… And I _am_ a pretty face.” 

Tracy laughed as well, shaking her head. “Yeah, yeah, we all know about the relationship you and your face have, pretty. Well, just keep your head, okay? I want to see you get someone, but I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Dean’s smile gentled, and he squeezed her hand; she was just as protective of him as Mal was, in her own way. “Thanks, Tracy,” he said earnestly. “I’ll be careful. I promise.” 

Thursday, his mind was torn. Part of him couldn’t stop thinking about Angel, and how for once it had been not just _fun_ to flirt, but had almost felt… right. And the other part of him was so excited for dinner with Sam, to learn about the little brother he hadn’t really even known he had. Unfortunately, the net result was Mal noticing how little he was focusing and sending him home. 

Dean was at the restaurant at seven on the dot, getting their table with a view of the door. Sam walked in five minutes later, unmistakeable. Still one of the tallest people Dean had ever met. He waved him over, and Sam slid in across from in a moment later.

“Hey, Dean,” he said, grinning. “I kind of thought you might not show up.”

“What? And miss getting to know my little brother?” Dean shook his head, and reached out to clasp hands with Sam. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Sam’s answering grin was enough to tell Dean he was glad he was there. “Good. I… That’s good.” He met Dean’s gaze evenly, and squeezed Dean’s hand. “So tell me about yourself! There’s so much I don’t know, about you, about dad… I mean… Where have you been all these years?”

Dean hid his wince carefully. Of course Sam was curious about their father; why wouldn’t he be?

He smiled. “We travelled a lot. Dad was a… security guy, I guess you could say. Kind of a PI. He solved a lot of mysteries. I spent a lot of time in different schools. I’ve been all over the country; it was pretty cool a lot of the time.” He grinned. “He didn’t even care when I dropped out of school. I got my GED a couple years ago, my boss, Malcolm, really wanted me to get it. I’m going to go to trade school next year, get certified in some things. I learned a lot from dad but I want to make sure that I can fix anything that comes my way.”

He flushed a little as Sam nodded eagerly. “That’s awesome, Dean! I mean, I know it’s not ideal to drop out of school but for a lot of people, it works better. That’s a great thing for you. I’m glad to hear that.” 

It was strange, how quickly they were falling in together. Like they’d known each other forever. “What about you?” Dean wanted the spotlight off of himself. “I mean, you’re in Stanford for crying out loud! Tell me how that happened! What’s mom like?”

“Mom is… She’s a martial arts teacher, and she works in the research library at the University of Wyoming. I grew up out there. I graduated last year, and I’m studying pre-law at Stanford. I want to be a subs rights lawyer. There’s still a lot of inequality in the way subs are treated, and I want to help make that right.”

“Wow Sammy, sounds like you have it all figured out.”

“Sammy?” Sam’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “No one’s called me Sammy since I was four.”

Dean flushed. “Uh, sorry. It just… felt right. I’ll try not to, Sam. Can’t promise anything, though.”

Sam shook his head. “No. No, it’s okay. It just felt… weird, that’s all.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, sorry. I’ll try to be careful. Really.”

The moment of awkwardness didn’t last long, though. Dean and Sam soon fell into an easy banter, and once again Dean was shocked by how easy Sam was to talk to. It felt like they’d known each other their whole lives, like they should have. Sitting there in Rosies, with Sam, Dean thought maybe he’d found somewhere else to feel safe.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry I missed last night, my boyfriend was over for exchanging presents. The chapter is a little short on account of it was typed on my phone. Still, hope you enjoy!!!

The next day at the garage, Malcolm watched Dean carefully. "Alright, spill," he said at lunch. "I haven't seen you this smiley in weeks. What's going on?"

Dean flushed as he opened his sandwich. "Well, actually. I found out something awesome earlier this week." He looked up at Mal. "I've got a brother."

Mal blinked at that comment. "Really? That's awesome! How did you find out?"

"Actually, he was that Ford Focus that came in for the new brakes. When he paid, this picture fell out of his wallet. It was my parents. And me, as a little kid. And him as a baby. We met for dinner last night, hung out for a while. He's going to Stanford, pre-law. I mean, how smart is he?"

Malcolm grinned and reached to clasp Dean's hand. "Oh that's great, Dean! Talk about a small world, huh?" He shook his head. "That's going to be a great thing for you."

Dean smiled. "I hope so," he said, taking a bite of his sandwich. 

Friday night was a different story. It was busier than Wednesday, but Dean couldn't help but watch for Angel. The man didn't walk in until nearly nine thirty, when Dean was about to give up on him. Dean was pouring a drink for a girl, but looked up as someone sat at the bar. The brown trench coat was fairly conspicuous. Dean felt a smile grow when he saw the man's bright blue eyes.

"Angel! What can I get for you?"

He served the girl her drink and headed over to Angel. "A rum and coke, please, Pretty. How is your evening?"

"It's good," Dean said, sliding the drink across the bar. He took advantage of the momentary lull to look at Angel. Just look at him. The man was as beautiful as he remembered. 

"Good, I am glad to hear it." 

The genuine concern in his voice made Dean preen just a little. "I wondered if you would show up," Dean admitted. 

Angel sipped his drink. "I wouldn't say I was coming and then not show up. That would not be fair, Pretty."

Dean smiled more broadly at that, but then had to go and serve other people. The music made conversation difficult, but Angel stayed at the bar, alternating a rum and coke with just a regular coke. He took advantage of any momentary lapses in the crowd to ask pointed questions. Before midnight, Dean had somehow told him that he played the guitar, that he wrestled (briefly) in high school, that he took up fixing cars because it was like a puzzle, and after work he liked to read old books (he hadn't meant to say that but when Angel said something in Latin about the beauty of some artist or another, Dean had distractedly replied in kind, leading to an interesting conversation where the kid with the GED knew conversational Latin. He couldn't talk about the monster lore, of course.) Angel had been suitably impressed. 

At the end of the night, when they made last call, Angel stood up and pulled his coat on. "Thank you, Pretty, for a wonderful evening," he said, inclining his head. "Do you work tomorrow? I would love to see you again."

Dean blinked. " _You swore off doms_ " he reminded himself, before those magnetic eyes drew his gaze again. "Uh, yeah, I do," he said, finding the smile on his lips again. "Eight to close."

Angel smiled at him. "In that case, Pretty, I will see you tomorrow." Dean watched him go with a bemused smile on his face.

That night, as he lay in bed, Castiel's voice in his head was a little different. A little gruffer. And if his dream dom's eyes were blue now, well, he didn't have to tell anyone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter that was typed on my phone... But tomorrow I'm back at my computer and regular updates should resume! Thanks guys, for all your support! It really means a lot!

Saturday night, Dean didn't even pretend he was waiting for someone else. Angel had said he was coming and Dean was looking forward to it. It was _his_ turn to learn some things. With Angel, the teasing conversation felt like a game. It was great, more fun than he had had with any of his more recent one night stands. 

Unfortunately, it was a _much_ busier night than Friday, and Dean was kept hopping, so he didn't really get to look for Angel. His eyes kept drifting over the crowd, but he saw no sign of the familiar brown trench coat, nor the messy black hair. Disappointment welled up in his chest, but he quashed it ruthlessly. 

_"You swore off doms,"_ he reminded himself firmly after the fifth time he looked over the room. _"Anyway, it's not like you're dating him or something. He's just a guy you flirt with for tips. Get over it."_

He focused his attention more firmly on the patrons he was actively serving, and so it caught him by surprise when a gruff voice spoke near his left shoulder. "Good evening, Pretty. May I have a rum and coke, please?" 

Dean spun so fast he nearly tripped, but then firmly reined himself in. _"You swore off doms,"_ he reminded himself again. " _He isn't late. He didn't tell you when he was coming, because this isn't a date. Get it together. He's just a guy."_ He smiled, though, partly from routine, partly because, well, seeing Angel made him smile. "Rum and coke, got it," he said, filling the cup and accepting the money. 

He had to serve someone else then, actually several someones, but he was acutely aware of Angel's eyes on him the whole time. When there was a lull, Angel spoke first. "I'm sorry I'm so late this evening, Pretty. I have a paper due Monday and I wanted to finish my rough draft before I came." 

Dean blinked. "You don't have to explain yourself to me," he said, shaking his head. "It's not like this is a date or anything."

Angel nodded his head, but a small frown touched his lips. "True," he said. "But I am a man of my word, pretty, and told you I would be here. I would not say such a thing and not follow through."

Dean felt his heart warm at that. Most people wouldn't think of a promise to a _bartender_ as something worth keeping. "Well...thanks. I don't think many of the men I've dated have felt that way. Not that this is a date! I mean, you just said it wasn't..." _"God, Dean, get it together,"_ he thought to himself firmly. Just then, Tracy came up with a couple of drink orders from the floor, and he had to step away. 

When there was another lull, Angel was still sitting there, sipping his rum and coke. Dean tentatively approached again, nervous but not wanting to scare Angel off. He hadn't had so much fun just talking to someone in a long time. The few times he'd gone home with someone, it had been clear they just found each other to be aesthetically pleasing, to let off steam, and Dean had expected it to be disappointing. With Angel, there was a "click". They had only met three times now but Dean always found himself wanting more from their encounters. _"Stupid crush._ "

Before he could say anything, Angel spoke up. "I know this is not a date, Pretty, but I have to admit I was hoping that maybe at some point in the future we might… progress to coffee, somewhere that isn’t here?” He smiled, and as it always did, that crooked smile melted his heart.

Dean shifted on his feet. “I swore off doms,” he found himself saying, even though it hurt to watch Angel’s face fall. “I got tired of getting hurt, getting beat up, and I’m really not looking for a relationship.”

Angel blinked, and looked down at his glass for a moment. “I see,’ he said. His tone was flat, and Dean felt his stomach twist. He’d disappointed someone. _Again_. This time, someone he actually _cared_ if he disappointed. He stepped forward, wanting to make it better, when Angel drank the last of his drink. “Well,” he said, as he looked up again. “It has been pleasant getting to know you, Pretty,” he said, setting down his glass. “I trust you will still talk to me when I come in? I would miss our conversations.”

Dean’s stomach twisted again. Just like that, the flirting was over? Dean didn’t think he could stand it. And it was unusual, to be the one pursuing the dom. But Angel was different; he’d never tried to force Dean into something he didn’t want. The idea of Angel going away, or not coming in as frequently, was wrenching.

“I swore off doms,” Dean said again, noting someone coming closer to the bar, to flag him down, but he wanted to get this out first. “But I didn’t swear off dating. I don’t… I think I need some time, no sex, no expectations. But I want to get to know you, Angel. You’ve been… A change. A good one.” He smiled, wanting to reach out and stop Angel from leaving but not wanting to get too distracted, either. He _was_ on the clock. “Can you come back on Wednesday? It’s quieter. I would like to talk to you, really. But I don’t think I’m ready to do something… different than this.”

The smile on Angel’s lips this time was genuine, and Dean felt something unclench within him. “Of course, Pretty,” he said, reaching to squeeze Dean’s hand. “I would love to. It’s a date.”

Dean flushed a little bit at that. “Great,” he said, honestly. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Angel nodded. “In that case, perhaps I will go and finish my paper, and leave you to your work. Good night, Pretty.”

He stood up, and shrugged his coat back on, squeezing Dean’s hand once across the bar. Dean nodded back, smiling at the squeeze. “Good night, Angel,’ he said, relieved that he had managed to come to a mutually beneficial solution. The idea of not having Angel around to talk to, even after just a few conversations, was distractingly upsetting.

He watched Angel leave before he turned back to his patrons, catching up quickly on the drinks that had been ordered. 

When he got home that night, for the first time in a long time, he took off the cuff on his wrist and stared at the name there. Castiel Novak. He rarely looked at the scar, because he knew what it said. The letters were burned into his brain. He rarely considered his soul mate. The man wasn't there, and Dean had long ago given up on being good enough for him. But he wanted to be. He wanted to be the kind of sub that Castiel could take pride in, the kind of sub who could take care of his dom, and please him. John had made it quite clear enough that Dean would never be good enough for the kind of dom he was sure that Castiel was, though, and in a strange way, Dean had made peace with it.

But men like Angel, they were a change. He didn't meet them often. Angel was a man Dean thought he could fall in love with; wasn't that weird? Who knows on their first meeting they can fall in love with someone? Dean did, though. He rubbed his thumb over Castiel's name. "Sorry, Sir," he murmured softly as he lay on his back on the bed. "You'll find someone better, anyway." He swallowed hard, and squeezed his wrist with his other hand, as though restraining himself. "I just hope that I won't disappoint Angel too much." After all, while falling in love outside of your soul mate bond wasn't exactly taboo, most people saved themselves, at least a little, for their intended. That night, though, Dean's mind drifted, and for the first time, it wasn't to Castiel. Angel's voice, Angel's touch... _"Good boy, Pretty,"_ whispered in his ear. Dean knew, right then, that he was lost.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not totally happy with this chapter. I could have probably done another thousand words of their date. :P But I wanted to get something up before I went to bed, so this is it! I hope you guys enjoy... Maybe more date tomorrow, who knows. But we're getting closer to The Big Reveal! Yayy!! :)
> 
> Night everyone!

Wednesday couldn't come fast enough. The rest of the weekend passed in a pleasant blur as Dean alternately day dreamed and planned for their rendezvous at the bar. They were at the start of something different, and Dean didn't know what to think. He hadnt dated since high school, before he presented. This was a weird thing for a twenty something, but one night stands _definitely_ didn't count for Real Dates. But this little weird thing had intent, and vocalized mutual enjoyment. He made it through a couple days, smiling and laughing enough that Mal cottoned on that _something_ had changed. He teased Dean about it, but didn't get any meaningful information out of him. Dean refused to share until he himself knew more. He'd been disappointed too many times. 

Still, his own misgivings didn't put a damper on things too much. It was still new and exciting, and the possibilities stretched in front of him like the open road had when he was a kid in the front seat of dad’s Impala. Angel was the kind of man, it seemed, who was willing to put the effort into getting to know Dean. It was a change from the men who just wanted into his pants. He wanted to take the time to have a real relationship, like Mal always said was so amazing. His mind drifted occasionally to Castiel, but he decided that, no, he was done waiting. He had life to live, and his soulmate… Well, he deserved a chance at happiness, and so did Dean. So if Angel seemed to want to try for it, Dean was going to jump at his shot.

The days of happiness came to a screeching halt, though, on Tuesday night. Dean was standing at his closet, trying to decide what he was going to wear to work the next day to meet Angel, when the phone rang. He reached over and picked it up without looking; he was supposed to meet Sam for dinner and thought his brother would be calling to confirm the time. “Hello?”

“Dean? Where the hell have you been?” 

John’s voice across the phone line was enough to make Dean freeze. “Hey dad. What do you mean? I’ve been working the same hours I usually do…” 

John’s growl was a warning, and Dean sat down on his bed. How was he so good at making Dean feel like a child? “I called the house Thursday and you weren’t in, and I called Friday night but you were gone earlier than work. I _needed_ you, Dean, and you weren’t there. Again.”

Dean felt the guilt well up in his stomach, like it always did when John called, disappointed. “Sorry, dad, I met a friend for dinner. What do you need me to look up? I’m sure I can find out tonight for you, I’m not working.”

“Well I can _tell_ you’re not working, Dean, because if you were, I’d already have my answer!”

Dean pushed up off the bed and stepped out of his room, to the living room, which had converted over the years to a library, stacked with books on every horizontal surface, with book shelves on every wall. 

“Right, I’m in the library. What am I looking for?”

A moment passed, then John finally spoke again. “Yeti,” he said. “Specifically mountainous humanoids; we’ve lost five hunters, that’s deer hunters, in the last six days. I’m in Colorado, and I need this info fast.”

Dean felt his stomach clench. Last time John had been that close, Dean had asked him to detour in, meet him for dinner. John’s response had been that he was ‘too busy for idle chit-chat’. Dean hadn’t asked again. “Right. Okay, give me five hours and I’ll call you back. I’ll have something for you.”

John growled again, and Dean had to bite back a retort that he was good, but not _that_ good. Instead, he just booted up his computer and pulled a couple of books to start flipping through. “I’ll call you back,” he said again.

John heaved a sigh. “Fine. Five hours, Dean.” The click of the phone line meant Dean was alone again. He flipped his phone open and texted Sam.

_Can’t make it. Something came up. Sorry. :( Thursday?_

He was halfway into the first chapter of the first book when the phone buzzed again. 

_Thursday’s fine. Hope you’re okay. See you later._

Dean breathed a sigh of relief, and went back to his research.

Less than five hours passed before Dean managed to find what he wanted: signs of the Yeti, and how to kill it (steel bullets, apparently, or else meat laced with nightshade. Who knew?) He called John back, and the older hunter took the information tersely. “Right. I’ll call you when I need you again,” was the closest to ‘thanks’ that Dean got.

Exhausted, he dropped into bed. As he drifted toward sleep a familiar vision filled his mind. 

_”You’re such a good boy for me, Pretty. And so smart, too, looking for those things. I’m so proud of how fast you could find them.” A gentle hand in his hair, stroking and teasing. Not sexual, just soothing, relaxing. Angel’s gruff voice whispering in his ear. Heaven._

The next day, Dean went to work at the garage, and managed to make it through the day, though Malcolm kept shooting him concerned looks. Still, he didn’t hurt himself, or anyone else, so Dean counted that as a win.

At the bar, he waited with bated breath for Angel’s arrival. He’d spent nearly twenty five minutes getting dressed that evening. He’d been extraordinarily careful to style his hair just right, had chosen a dark green shimmery shirt that Tracy said brought out his eyes, and then had _lined_ his eyes with just a little bit of pencil. Tracy said it made him look ‘mysterious’, the couple times he’d done it before. 

He glanced at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. _”Not too shabby, Winchester,_ ” he thought to himself, though he did hope that Angel didn’t think he was too dressed up. He didn’t have long to wait, though, because the familiar swish of the trench coat heralded Angel’s seat at the bar.

“Hello, Pretty.”

Dean turned around, and nearly gasped. Despite the stubble on Angel’s cheeks, which somehow only made him look more delectable, the man had clearly cleaned up for their date. His hair was neatly brushed, and he wore a black shirt with a bright blue tie. “Angel,” he said, feeling himself blush. What had started as a fun, flirty name had morphed into something else. It always felt like Angel was complimenting him whenever he used Dean’s chosen pseudonym.

Tracy appeared behind Dean. “Hey,” she said, touching his waist. “Go ahead and sit down at the end of the bar; I’ll bring you guys out some fries.” She grinned; clearly she thought they were cute, as she had told Dean at least three times in the forty minutes before Angel had shown up. “I can handle the couple guys we got in here now, I’ll only need you if there’s a crush.”

Dean’s flush darkened. “Uh, thanks, Tracy,” he said. That was one good thing about working a little local bar; they got a little more slack. He did as she had suggested, settling at the end of the bar. Angel followed him, and sat down opposite him. Dean fiddled with his cuff, not quite knowing what to say all of a sudden. How did this dating stuff work again? After his conversation the day before with his father, Dean suddenly felt insecure about himself, and his own decision to pursue this relationship. What if he wasn’t good enough? That wouldn’t be fair to Angel...

Angel saved him, by reaching out and taking his hand. “You seem troubled,” he said earnestly. “Is something wrong?”

Dean looked down at where their hands joined. “Uh, no, not really. I just… had a bit of a disagreement with my dad yesterday. He’s never really liked that I presented sub; the two of us don’t get on very well. But he needed a favor yesterday, and… Well, I’m just a little down, that’s all.”

Angel shook his head. “That is too bad. But you are a good son, to help him even when you two do not get on.”

Dean looked up, smiling weakly. “Thanks,” he said honestly. “That makes me feel better. I don’t know why he gets to me so much. But growing up… It was just me and him. No one else. My mom, she split and took my little brother with her, so I didn’t get to know him. And we travelled a lot. It was me and dad against the world. Then I presented, and suddenly I couldn’t do anything right. I know I disappointed him.” He laughed bitterly. “Why am I telling you this? God. What a downer can I be?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean for this to be a bitch fest.”

Angel’s hand squeezed his wrist. “Pretty, it’s fine. Anything that impacts your life, I would want to know about. I want to know the good and the bad. I know we haven’t known each other long, but… Already I care about you a great deal. And I am sure that your father doesn’t know what hurt he is inflicting on you. Forgive me if this is forward, but if I had the ability, I would protect you from that. I know what it is like, to go against what your family wants for you.”

Dean chuckled faintly. “You do, huh?” It warmed him, that Angel seemed so concerned for him. 

“Indeed. I have many older brothers, and they have all gone into the family business; my father runs a law office. They assumed I would be joining them. When I declared my intention to become an art history professor, my father disowned me. I only speak to a few of my brothers now, and very infrequently. It is a lonely life, cut off from those you love.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, it is.” He squeezed Angel’s hand back. “I’m sorry to hear that. They don’t know what they’re missing.”

Angel smiled back at him. “Thank you, Pretty,” he said earnestly. “I am learning to live with it. Making my own family, from those who still care.”

Just then, Tracy came up with some loaded fries. “Eat up guys, on the house.” She grinned. “Have fun. I’ll let you know if I need you.”

Dean nodded his thanks, and took a fry. “I’m doing the same thing,” he said. “People who care. That’s a great way to put it. So let’s talk about something else. Something happier.” His grin morphed into something much flirtier. “Like the way your hair looks right now.”

Angel laughed, and it was like the darkness of that last moment was broken, and they were back how they had been when they first met. Dean relaxed into their conversation, glad for the first time to have a chance to give Angel his undivided attention.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised: More date night! :) We're getting closer and closer to the big reveal! 
> 
> Happy New Year to everyone! :) Hope you enjoy!

“So you are a classic rock fan?”

Angel’s voice was honestly curious, and Dean had to smile. He loved to talk about his favorite music, since it had gotten him through a lot of tough times. “Oh, yeah. You can’t beat the classics, man. Led, Kansas, man, the guitar in some of those, the best. I’ve got some amazing LPs back at my place.”

Angel smiled, and this time it was a bit more flirtatious than it had been. “I would love to hear them sometime.”

Dean flushed. “Maybe,” he agreed tentatively. He’d never taken anyone home before; none of the men (or women) he’d slept with had seen his bed. He didn’t want to try and explain the books in his library, or risk someone seeing what they shouldn’t. More than that, he’d never wanted to be in the position to get rid of someone in the morning; he needed the escape route. 

But Angel… Angel was different. He wouldn’t laugh at Dean’s books, and probably wouldn’t snoop. Was he really thinking of that? Of bringing someone home? Yeah, he was, because Angel was… exactly who he wanted.

Angel grinned. “I feel as though it would be crass of me to invite you home to see my etchings…”

Dean laughed; Angel was wittier than he’d expected, but since they’d gotten sex off the table Dean felt much more comfortable flirting with him. “Maybe I like crass.” Dean teased back, just to see Angel laugh as well. 

“Well. Perhaps I will wait for you to feel comfortable telling me your real name before I take you home,” he said, just a little more sober than before. “Not that I am attempting to pressure you, Pretty. I want to get to know you, and I’m happy to take as long as you need.”

Dean flushed a little bit. “I… I want to,” he said earnestly. “I want to tell you and be with you, but…” He looked down at his hands. “I don’t know if I can yet. I mean, I haven’t dated since high school, and…” He fiddled with his cuff. “I don’t know. I always said I wasn’t really saving myself for my soulmate, because so many people never find them. But… I also feel like I’m giving up on him if I admit I’m looking for something permanent as myself. Does that make sense?” He shifted on his stool, and Angel smiled, reaching to squeeze his hand.

“It makes perfect sense, Pretty,” he said. Dean felt his stomach clench; Angel always seemed so earnest and sincere. “I understand that everyone dreams of meeting their soulmate; I have had that same dream myself. But I embrace living for the now. I would certainly like to move forward with you, but I understand if you need more time.”

Dean smiled, and reached under the bar for a pad of paper. He scrawled down his number and passed it across. “There. That’s me. I can’t promise… a name yet. But maybe a coffee sometime?”

Angel nodded soberly as he took the number. He pulled out his phone and quickly typed it in. Dean’s phone vibrated a moment later, and Dean smiled. “Thanks,” he said, picking up his phone and adding the number to his contacts. 

“Of course, Pretty.” He glanced down at their shared plate. “You seem to have enjoyed the fries… Do you also enjoy burgers? I know a diner nearby that is open twenty four hours. When you are off work perhaps we could eat?”

Dean did some quick math, and decided that being a little more tired the next day would be worth it. He was tired of limiting himself just because he was expected to. His phone encounter with John made him want to _live_ , not hide in his little hole anymore. “If they’ve got pie,” he said, a teasing grin on his face, “you’ve got yourself a date.”

Angel grinned and nodded. “I am certain they do,” he agreed. “Wonderful. In that case, why don’t you get back to work? I feel guilty taking all this time from you when you are meant to be working. I will still be here when you are finished.”

Dean stretched. “Thanks,” he said. He took their plate. “I’ll be, you know, around.” He didn’t want Angel to leave, after all. “Can I get you something? And don’t say rum and coke. Seriously.”

Angel blinked. “Well… I admit, I do not drink much. Rum and coke is all I know for certain that I will like.”

Dean grinned. “Yeah, well, I never made you a drink before. Alright. Let’s see… I’m thinkin’ a grasshopper. Be right back.”

He quickly mixed the cocktail, the sweet, minty drink layered with just a little whipped cream on top. That was Dean’s personal touch. He passed it across to Angel with a flourish. “Voila. A grasshopper. A little mint, a little sweet, a little chocolate. What do you think?”

Angel sipped it, and a slow smile spread across his lips. “Delicious,” he agreed. “Perhaps I will have you experiment for me a little more often. I do enjoy this. It is very… green.” The smile turned mischievous. “It reminds me of your eyes.”

That startled a laugh out of Dean, who shook his head and had to go back to the kitchen to drop off the plate from their fries. The rest of the evening passed similarly, with Angel mostly drinking cokes but occasionally allowing Dean to fix him something new and exciting to taste. He paid for all his drinks, _and_ tipped, waving off Dean’s protestations that it wasa date. “You are working, Pretty, and I won’t let you beggar yourself. If you were on this side of the bar, of course you could buy me a drink.” He smiled, to show he wasn’t trying to belittle Dean. “But on that side, you are selling them, and I will pay.”

Dean felt himself smiling. “Well. Fair enough.” It wasn’t like Angel was being all toppy like Dad used to be; he was just being conscientious. He couldn’t really argue with that, as long as Angel followed through and let Dean pay for things sometime.

At the end of the night, Tracy kicked Dean out pretty quick. “I’ll finish the wipedown, Pretty,” she said, grinning. “Go on your date. Shoo!” Dean let her rush them out, and Angel pulled his trench on as they headed out the door.

“So where are we going?” Angel was walking, so clearly wherever it was, it was close. They headed toward the corner, and Angel looked over his shoulder, slowing down until Dean caught up.

“We’re going to Mally’s Diner, have you been?” 

Dean shook his head. “I don’t really eat out much.” Which probably was due to his father’s orders, he thought. He mostly stayed home, trying to do as much research as he could. Most of his earnings went to savings, though occasionally John would call and say a credit cam fell through, and he was getting pretty lean, and Dean would wire him some money. It was good to know he was contributing somehow. “But I thought I had been everywhere in town with good pie.”

Angel chuckled. “They do not advertise it much, but they are very good. Burgers and pie are… Home cooked memories, for me. My brothers used to cook and that was about all they knew how to make. But when they were babysitting, it was more fun than having the staff cook for us.”

Dean blinked. “I still can’t believe you had a _staff_ ” he said dryly. “I mean, I didn’t even have a _house_ , a lot of the time.”

“Yes, well, it isn’t all it was cut out to be. I still cleaned my own room, and had a fair amount of responsibility. But my parents believed in spending as little time on home maintenance as possible. Hence the staff.”

Dean shook his head. “Well. Wow. I guess.” He chuckled a little bit. “Still, crazy.” 

They reached a homey little diner, one that reminded Dean of one of every diner he’d ever sat in before. But he went in with Angel, and they sat at a little booth in the corner. Dean flashed his brightest smile at the tired waitress; no one was fresh at two in the morning. “I’ll have a decaf coffee and a bacon cheeseburger,” he said, not even picking up his menu. They _were_ out for burgers and coffee, after all.

Angel ordered the same, and then turned his attention back to Dean. “I think this is the first time I have seen you in the full light,” he said. “You are as alluring as I always thought.” 

Dean flushed again. “Dude,” he said, staring at his hands. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or embarrassed? I mean… I don’t think anyone has ever talked to me like that.”

Angel smiled, reaching for Dean’s hand. “Honestly, I would not usually speak so frankly, but there is something about you, Pretty, that makes me want to remind you how wonderful you are.”

“I don’t know how you know that,” Dean said, but he didn’t want to dispute it. “But… I want to believe it. You’re the first man I’ve met that… I want to believe that.”

Angel nodded. “You’re going to see. I follow through. And you _are_ wonderful, Pretty. I will show you.”

In light of his dreams the last few nights, Dean didn’t have a good comeback for that.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I'm going out for dinner with friends, thought I'd post early! Hope you all enjoy, and you aren't too sick from last night! :-P Thank you all for your kind words and encouragement, it really means a lot to me! 
> 
> Happy New Year everyone! Enjoy!

“Dean, you look exhausted.” Dean looked up at Mal’s words. “I mean, you’ve looked pretty tired the last week or so, but today you look awful. Do you feel ok?”

Dean flushed and looked down at his hands. “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I, uh, just had a pretty late night.” Angel had made himself pretty clear the night before, and even though they hadn’t kissed when they split up, the hug was plenty clear. “I think I met a guy.”

Mal’s face split into a grin. “You _think_ you met a guy? Come on, Dean… You either did or didn’t.” He teased a little bit, but he knew that Dean wasn’t the kind of man to date casually. Dean rarely went out, so it was reassuring to see him trying.

“Okay. Yeah. I met a guy. He’s… really great. He came to see me after work yesterday, so I was out kinda late, that’s all.”

Mal chuckled. “Well so? Spill! What’s his name, what’s he do?”

“I… He’s an art student at Stanford; he wants to be a professor.”

“I’m sensing something missing, Dean,” Mal said, a little concern drifting into his tone. “What’s his name?”

Dean shifted a little bit. “I don’t know. I mean, he doesn’t know mine, either. We’ve met a couple of times at the bar. I didn’t give him my name; I told him I’m Pretty. That’s what Tracy calls me at the bar. And he called himself Angel. So, ah, that’s what I call him.”

Mal raised an eyebrow. “So you’ve met him a few times, but you don’t even know his name? Dean, I know you are careful, but guys like that can be dangerous.”

Dean nodded. “I know, Mal. But… He’s different. I never felt a click with someone like that before. I’d know if he was shady. I’m a pretty good judge of character, you know. I mean, except that I hang out with you, I guess there’s a pretty fatal flaw…”

Mal laughed. “Alright, alright. But keep yourself safe, Dean, that’s an order. And go have a cup of coffee. I don’t want you falling asleep in this engine.”

Dean chuckled and tossed him a messy salute. “Sir, yessir,” he said, shaking his head a little bit before heading toward the break room to get the ordered cup of coffee. 

Feeling a little more awake, he headed back out to work. “I’m meeting my brother for dinner tonight,” he said as he picked up his wrench. “He’s so smart.” He chuckled. “I can’t believe he’s from the same family as me, seriously.”

Mal whacked him on the back of the head. “Hey, none of that. You’re pretty smart yourself. You know I don’t stand for that stuff.”

Dean rubbed his head, glaring playfully at Mal. “Hey, hey, none of that violence stuff! That’s harassment, I could sue you know.”

Mal snorted. “Yeah, like you would, Winchester. Get back to work.”

Dean laughed and reached into the toolbox. “Yessir,” he said as he swapped his wrench for a ratchet.

That night, he met Sam at Rosie’s again. “Hey, man,” he said, standing up from the table to shake Sam’s hand. He was surprised when the younger man hugged him tightly, but he couldn’t deny it felt good. He didn’t get a lot of hugs, and much like Angel’s had the night before, Sam’s made him feel safe.

“Hey, Dean, how are you?” Sam settled across the table from him, and Dean smiled as he picked up his menu.

“Good, I’m good. Tired, though. I had a date last night, after work. Which means it didn’t start until two AM.”

Sam laughed. “Nice! Good for you,dude.” He set down his menu and looked at Dean. “So who’s the lucky dom?”

“Uh, well, I call him Angel,” Dean said, hardly believing he was having to tell the same story twice in one day. “But he’s a guy I met at the bar. We didn’t exchange names because… I never do that.” He chuckled. “I think that I’m almost ready, though. He’s… a pretty awesome guy.”

Sam looked mildly disbelieving. “Well, that’s… pretty cool, man, even if I don’t think it would work for me. Congrats.” He patted Dean’s hand, and Dean pulled back, though the smile on his face showed he wasn’t unhappy.

“Yeah, yeah… Enough of the chick flick moments, yeah? How’s school going?”

“It’s good, it’s good. I’ve got a couple tests coming up soon, but I think I have it under control…” He trailed off as the door opened, and he smiled. “Cas! Hey, man!” He raised his hand to wave someone over, and Dean turned in his chair… And felt his heart stop when his eyes landed on Angel, trench coat and all, coming toward their table.

“Hello, Sam,” he said, smiling, and then froze when he saw Dean. “Oh, I’m sorry… I did not mean to interrupt your evening…”

Sam shook his head. “No, no,” he said, smiling. “It’s fine. Pull up a chair! We just got here. Cas, this is my brother I told you about. Cas, this is my brother, Dean.”

He looked over at Dean, who was still speechless, and frowned. “Dean, are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah. I’m fine.” He put on a smile. “Nice to meet you, Cas,” he said, holding out a hand

Cas shook himself a little and pulled a chair over obediently. “Hello, Dean. It is… Nice to meet you as well.”

Sam was watching the two of them bemusedly. “Are you guys okay? Seriously?” And then he looked at Dean, how closely he was watching Cas, and his eyes widened. “Oh my god! Dean! _Cas_ is Angel?”

Dean blushed to the roots of his hair as Cas chuckled. “You told your brother about our date, Pr… Dean? I am honored.”

Dean chuckled self-consciously. “Well, I don’t have many friends, and that _was_ the best date I’ve been on in a long time.”

Sam grinned. “Oh god this is just so good. I can’t even believe this.”

Dean slapped his hand. “Oh shut up, Sammy.” He turned to Cas. “So. Cas.” He chuckled. “I guess we traded names earlier than expected. I’m okay with it, though… I probably couldn't have gone much longer without introducing myself, really. What kind of name is Cas, anyway?”

“Well, actually…” Cas stuck out his hand. “My whole name is Castiel Novak. I am named after the angel of Thursday, or so my mother tells me. It’s nice to meet you.”

Dean felt the blood drain out of his face, as the introduction he’d dreamed of for years made its way from Angel’s lips. “It’s n-nice to meet you,” he said. “Dean. Dean Winchester.” 

At least he was satisfied to see the other man’s face pale when he heard the words. It had happened. Dean had fallen in love with his soul mate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mwahahahahah.... I couldn't wait any longer! Hope you enjoyed! I HAD to reveal... I hope it met your expectations!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry this is so late this evening... I've had a busy day! But hopefully this chapter makes you all warm and fuzzy inside. I'd really appreciate feedback about if you feel like Dean is in character here. I kind of think that soulmates are a little bit... instinctively open to one another? Because of their predestined bond. :P OR at least, that's how I'm playing it. But please do let me know if you think I came on too heavy!
> 
> Anyway. tl;dr, thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!

Sam was staring at them, and Dean… really couldn’t care. No. This couldn’t.. How could this be happening? He stood up from the table. “I can’t… I’ve gotta go.”

He barely registered the sputter from Sam, but Cas, _Castiel’s_ , hand gripped his wrist. “Dean, wait. Please. Can we talk?” He shot a glance at Sam, who stood up swiftly.

“I’ll just… take a walk. If you need me, you guys have my number.” He turned and strode out of the restaurant, and Castiel stepped closer to Dean. 

“Pretty,” he said, his voice low and gentle. The use of the pseudonym caught Dean’s attention and he paused in trying to pull away. “Pretty, please, stay and talk with me, just for a minute.”

Dean blinked. “You know my name now, man,” he said, reluctantly turning back to Castiel. “You don’t have to use… You can call me Dean.”

Castiel smiled, gesturing for both of them to sit. “Do you want me to? To call you Dean? Because nothing has to change now. Not if you don’t want it to. The only difference between now and last night is that you know who I am. But I have known something since that first night, and that is that I want you to be mine.”

Dean swallowed. How was he supposed to respond to that? “How can nothing change?” He looked up at Castiel, his eyes wide. “I mean… I don’t know how you can want me.” His voice was soft. “I never had someone want me… For me. I’m a terrible sub. I suck at following orders, I hate being spanked, I’ve never even fallen into sub space! I can’t…”

Castiel closed a hand around Dean’s cuff, squeezing gently. “Pretty,” he said again, waiting until Dean stopped speaking and looked up at him. “I want you to be mine. And if that takes three days or three years, I won’t stop waiting for you. But I need you to trust me. I know we haven’t known each other long, but… This…” He tapped Dean’s cuff, then his own, while not releasing the other man’s wrist. “This says we were meant to be together. This is the validation of the feelings I’ve had since I met you, the reason I couldn’t stop thinking about you from the moment I left the bar last Wednesday night. Pretty, you _are_ my soul mate. The one I’ve been waiting for my whole life. And no matter what anyone else says about you, you are _perfect_ for _me_.”

Dean stared. “How can you know that?” He said, when he finally found his voice again. “How can you know everything is going to be all picket fence and apple pies! I mean, yesterday, we were on a date and you didn’t even know my name!”

Castiel chuckled, and the sound, instead of making Dean defensive, helped him to relax. He looked over at the other man, whose blue eyes were sparkling. “Pretty, yesterday I went on a date with the man I knew I wanted to have forever. Soul mate or not, you were the one for me. And then today I find that fate has dropped you in my lap, literally. I do not have to consider giving anything up, because my perfect match is here, with me.”

Dean swallowed. The tone in Castiel’s voice made it clear that “Pretty” _was_ an endearment now. “I’m still not ready for much,” he said, after a moment. “I want… I need to get to know you first. But I want to! I want to get to know you, and have… everything. My boss always goes on and on about how amazing it is to be with someone. I never had that. But… I need to know you’re going to be able to handle my screw ups. I don’t think I can give myself to someone again just to have it blow up in my face.”

Castiel smiled. “Then we will take it slow,” he said with a firm nod. “Believe me when I say that you are worth getting to know, worth taking the time for. And I want to.”

Dean nodded. “I guess… I guess I’ll have to believe you.” He smiled little bit. “It’ll just take time. But enough with the chick flick moments!” He picked up his menu, quite done with the conversation for the moment.

“As you wish, Pretty,” Cas said, and Dean flushed. 

“Uh… I never, um, told Sam that was what you were calling me. So maybe when he comes back, you should just use Dean.”

Cas smiled. “Of course, Dean, if that will make you more comfortable. You may call me Angel, if you wish.”

Dean shook his head. “I… I think I’d like to keep those special. Between us. If you don’t mind?”

The smile on Cas’ lips broadened, and he nodded. “I would like that very much, Dean,’ he said, squeezing the hand he still held. “Why don’t you call Sam back? If you would like me to leave, to allow you time with your brother…?”

Dean shook his head again, and this time he reached for Cas’ hand. “No! I mean, I would like time, eventually but… You’re here, and…” And somehow, if Cas left, it wouldn’t be real. He needed him to stay.

“Of course, Dean,” he said. “I will stay. As long as you like.” And somehow, Dean knew he was telling the truth.

Dean called Sam, and a couple minutes later the taller man reappeared. "Wow, guys." He said, sitting back down across from Dean. “Did what I think just happened, happen?”

Dean flashed Sam a shaky smile. “Yep. We’re, well… Let’s just say I’ve known his name a really long time. I just didn’t know I knew it.”

Sam grinned broadly. “My. God.” He chuckled. “I can’t believe it. Talk about a small world!”

“Yes, it was most fortuitous that Dean selected Stanford for his home.”

Castiel’s hand hadn’t left Dean’s, though it had shifted from his cuff on his wrist to tangle their fingers together on the tabletop. The contact felt like it was seeping heat right into Dean’s chest, through his fingers. A burning warmth that, Dean was sure, would leave Castiel’s hand imprinted on the back of Dean’s own. It was enough for him to agree with Castiel’s statement, instead of trying to explain how it _really_ was that he ended up at Stanford. 

“Yeah,” he said, after a long moment. “It’s really crazy.” He couldn’t bring himself to really focus on the conversation because he was distracted by the soft rub of skin against his palm. He was saved from further awkward conversation by the return of the waitress. 

“Are you boys ready? Or do you need another menu?”

Sam smiled up at her, shaking his head. “I think we’re good. I’m going to have the eggplant parmesan sandwich, with extra mozzarella.” He put the menu down; clearly he’d been there many times so he was familiar with what he liked. 

Castiel nodded as well. “I will have the meatball sandwich,” he said. Since he hadn’t even glanced at a menu, Dean knew that Castiel was a regular as well. They probably went together. He hadn’t really looked at the menu, though, and was at a loss as to what he wanted.

“Uhm.” He blinked. “Cas? Any suggestions?”

The dom smiled. “Ah… Do you trust me to order for you?”

Dean chuckled. “Since you let me make you drinks last night, sure. Just, ah, not too much green stuff, okay? I’m not a rabbit.”

Castiel laughed. “Understood.” He smiled up at the waitress. “He will have the hot sausage ravioli. I would also like extra garlic bread, for the table.”

She took down their orders and smiled. “Sure thing, sugar. I’ll be right out with that. You want anything to drink?”

“I’ll have a coke,” Dean said finally, shifting a little bit in the chair. 

“The same,” Castiel agreed, glancing with some concern at Dean, but relaxing when he saw that Dean seemed to simply be adjusting himself, and not truly in distress.

“Just water for me, thanks,” Sam said. 

She nodded and turned away, coming back a few minutes later to drop off their drinks. “Your food will be right out, boys.”

“Great, thanks,” Sam said, though his attention turned immediately back to Dean and Castiel.

“Wow. I can’t even believe all of this. Congrats again guys. How awesome.”

Dean flushed. “Yeah. Like I needed another major change in my life right now,” he joked.

Castiel looked over at him, but whatever was in Dean’s face relaxed him again. 

“I, for one, am very grateful to have found you now,” he said to Dean, focusing all his attention on the older man. “I was ready to pour my life into making you mine, and he thought of what would happen when I found my soul mate was… troubling to me. But you were worth it, Dean. And I am glad that now I do not have to make that decision.”

Dean flushed even more deeply, rubbing his neck with his free hand. “Cas, dude. What did I say about the chick flick moments?”

Sam was snickering across the table from them, and Dean kicked his knee. “Oh, shut up,” he said sourly, which just made Sam snicker harder.

They chatted about easier things after that, like Cas and Sam’s classes, and Dean’s upcoming certification course. They stayed away from the heavy topics of family, life _before_ , things that would be harder to explain. This was a good night, and they didn’t want to ruin it.

Their food arrived and Dean grinned broadly at the plate set in front of him. “Man, Cas! You don’t mess around with the food!” The plate was easily as big as his head, and the ravioli on it weren’t small, either. There was a small side of grilled asparagus, but Dean was able to pick around it as he ate the pasta with gusto. “Mm… Oh, wow.” He grinned. “If you’re this good everywhere, I might make you order for me all the time,” he said around a mouthful of food.

It was Castiel’s turn to blush, just a little. “I would not mind that at all,” he said, squeezing Dean’s wrist. He’d had to let go of his hand so that Dean could eat, but that didn’t mean that the little touches had done more than slow down. “Provided, of course, that you learn to chew with your mouth shut,” he teased, and Dean glanced at his plate, making a show of chewing very carefully, lips closed.

When they’d finished eating, including some awesome tiramisu that Dean really was considering vying for best dessert (even with pie. It was _that_ good.) Sam left them alone, claiming some paper he needed to work on.

Cas walked Dean out of the restaurant, standing next to his car. “I would very much like to take you out again soon, Dean,” he said, lingering and clearly not wanting to let go of Dean’s fingers. Dean smiled, and took a deep breath.

“I could, uh, really use a ride home. If you were interested?” He smiled a little bit. “I don’t have a car.”

Castiel seemed puzzled by this; a mechanic without a car? But he smiled a moment later and pulled open the passenger door of his car. “Please,” he said. “I would love to take you home.”

Dean climbed in and watched as Castiel got in his own door. “Five-one-seven Goldsten Drive,” Dean said, and squeezed the arm rest of his seat. He’d never taken anyone home before, and he knew that if Cas got him to his door, there was no way Dean wasn’t inviting him in. As the car started to move, Dean took a deep breath. _”Here goes nothin’_ ” he thought.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow guys. I'm SO sorry. I definitely didn't mean to leave you all hanging for TEN DAYS. :( I kinda hit some writers block there, and it was a real challenge to get this chapter up.
> 
> SO fair warning: POV change! This one is from Cas' point of view. Please bear with my gratuitous flashbacks. I endeavored to address some things I've gotten comments about, and to give Cas' perspective on some things. I think it helps to flesh Cas out a little bit more. So here's an extra long chapter just for all of you. :)
> 
> Special thanks to Dickensgal31 for her cheerleading and encouragement. I'm SURE I wouldn't have gotten this chapter written without her. Also, to Isilwath for helping me to pinpoint a piece of the dynamic that I couldn't quite figure out why it wasn't working. It helped to give me a dimension of Cas I knew I needed to address! Also to Rasalas_Lesath for being a consistent, awesome commenter. To everyone else, thanks for sticking with me! Enjoy, guys!

The ride to Dean's house was fairly quiet. Dean seemed to be lost in thought, so Castiel didn't mind being the same. Castiel's eyes remained on the road, but his thoughts certainly didn't. He couldn't help but wonder about the difference he saw in Dean and Pretty. Oh, physically they were the same man but the way they acted, they way they spoke, were so different. 

Pretty was a man who flirted with ease, who had no problems teasing or being teased. He was alluring, even if not always sure of himself. He smiled to himself as he thought about that first time he walked into the bar. Pretty had been busy, but not overwhelmed, since it had been a Wednesday. 

_Castiel stopped his car outside the bar, and checked his phone. Still nothing from Natalie or David. It figured that he would be the first to arrive, when he never even wanted to go to a bar in the first place. If they hadn’t needed to work on that group paper, and if his vote for the library hadn’t been outvoted…_

_His phone buzzed then, and he glanced down to see a text from Natalie. Of course she wasn’t coming. The follow up from David wasn’t surprising, either, and Castiel slumped back in his seat. Great. How, exactly, had he ended up paired with two of the least conscientious members of his class?_

_He glanced at the bar and sighed. Well, though it wasn't his usual MO, perhaps this was as good a time as any for a bracing drink. He pushed himself up from the seat and stepped out of the car, walking to the bar just a little hesitantly. He didn’t usually go to bars, and this was… out of his comfort zone. He headed toward the main bar itself, and felt his breath catch when the bartender turned around. A young man, perhaps early twenties? His hair appeared fairly dark in the dim lighting of the bar, but something inside Castiel twitched when their eyes met. Green, the color of new leaves and new life. He felt his breath catch, and he settled himself at the bar just a little too fast. Suddenly he knew where he was going to spend the rest of his evening._

_The bartender smiled a flirtatious smile, that Castiel logically knew was for all his customers. But it felt specific to him. He shifted a little bit on the stool, leaning forward on the bar. “What can I get you, blue eyes?” The words made Cas’s chest tighten, the rough voice resonating in a way he would never have expected._

_“A rum and coke, please,” he said without hesitation. It was the only drink that he knew that he liked, because it was a safe thing to order on his nights out. He rarely experimented with drinks, given that he rarely went anywhere that would indicate that he was going to consume alcohol._

_The bartender mixed it up and passed it over; Cas was mesmerized by his movements. Couldn’t take his eyes off him. He passed over a ten dollar bill for his five dollar charge. “Keep the change,” he found himself saying, though really he shouldn’t. But he wanted to see if he could draw another smile from the bartender, and the generous tip had done the trick._

_“Big tipper,” he said, and Castiel felt himself smiling in response. The young man tucked the money away smoothly. “I like that in a man.”_

_Castiel wasn’t usually a flirting type. Yes, he wanted to find his soulmate as much as the next fellow, the one who would be his perfect fit. But he also knew that he wanted to finish university, to get himself settled, before he got serious about finding his soulmate. So he knew that if it happened earlier, he wouldn’t mind, but he wasn’t going looking. But the bartender… struck a chord. He didn’t know why, just knew that he wanted to make him stay around. He’d never felt something so magnetic._

_“Yes, well, good service deserves to be rewarded.” Had he really just said that? But the chuckle and the leaning in meant that the bartender hadn’t been offended. Had possibly even decided to flirt back. Why did it matter? This was the first time they’d ever seen each other._

_“Right, well, I’m glad to be of service… However you need.”_

_Castiel sipped his drink to hide his surprise. He really,_ really _hadn’t flirted for a while. He took the moment to let his eyes drift appraisingly over the bartender. Yes. Definitely worth flirting with. He had the kind of body that looked like he put in a hard day’s work, sculpted in a way that didn’t speak of the gym (and were those nipple bars, pressing against his shirt?), but his eyes smiled to match his lips, with a glint of mischief that Castiel wanted to examine further. When he felt he could speak evenly, he spoke again. “You could start by giving me your name.”_

 _The bartender hesitated, making Cas wonder if perhaps he’d gone too far. But then he smiled. “My name? You can call me Pretty.” He shifted against the bar, and Castiel heard the small hiss of pain as his shirt tugged tighter; he couldn’t help but look and confirm. Yes, those_ were _nipple piercings, and new ones, at that._

_“Pretty, hmm? It’s fitting.” And he couldn’t help it. Absolutely fitting. But pseudonyms were hard. What was he going to call himself? He decided on the nickname his mother had given him, all those years ago. “I suppose if that’s the way we’re doing this… You can call me… Angel.” He was supremely gratified when Pretty took the hand he offered without hesitation._

_“Angel, huh? Like the angel of… What? I’m afraid I’m not so up on my angel lore.”_

_Castiel couldn’t hold back his chuckle at that. “Well, neither am I, but my mother was quite enamored of them.”_

_It seemed like Pretty was going to comment on that when a young woman came toward the bar. “Sorry,” he said apologetically. “Hold that thought.”_

_Castiel watched with no less appreciation than before when Pretty maneuvered around the bar. He had strong hands, he couldn’t help but notice. Competent, no matter what he was making… And Castiel really had no idea what he was making. But he was gratified to see that Pretty didn’t stop to flirt with the girl, but instead hurried back to him._

_“So, Angel, tell me about yourself.”_

_What a loaded question. But what was he going to say? He wanted, somehow, to be interesting enough that Pretty would want to stay talking to him, but he’d never considered himself especially… captivating. “Well, I am a sophomore at Stanford. I study Art History; I would like to earn my doctorate and teach one day. I live with a friend and his girlfriend.” He left off that he’d taken some time off after high school because he had wanted to travel, and he hadn’t know what he wanted to do._

_Truth be told, he felt awkward talking about himself, and really wanted to know about Pretty. He’d never felt so attracted to someone so fast. “And yourself, Pretty? What is someone as lovely as you doing in such a place?”_

_Castiel was surprised at the blush that spread across Pretty’s face, but he couldn’t say it wasn’t attractive. There was nothing so far that the bartender had done that wasn’t attractive, and wasn’t that just a little bit unfair?_

_“Not much, to tell” Pretty said with a little self-deprecating shrug. “I’m a mechanic by day, bartender by night. I’m local, and, uh, that’s really it.”_

_“Well, Pretty, I’m glad to hear that you seem to be happy. It just wouldn’t do for someone as perfect as you to be unhappy.” Despite the smile on his lips, he felt a flush spread across his cheeks. Where on earth had that come from? It was the kind of come-on you heard on bad teen romances, not from the lips of_ actual _twenty somethings in California._

_Pretty didn’t seem overly annoyed, though he did brush off the compliment quickly. “Wow. Perfect? Far be it from me to say a paying customer is wrong but… I’m not sure you know me well enough to say perfect.”_

_Well, that was honest enough. He didn’t want to come on too strong, and Pretty_ was _right. They didn’t know each other. Still, the sorrow that sparked in Pretty’s eyes as he brushed away the compliment was enough to have Castiel reaching toward him before he’d properly considered what he was doing. “Come now, Pretty. Trust me. I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.”_

_Of course, that was foolish in itself; what reason did the young man have to trust him, a complete stranger?_

_But Pretty just swallowed and smiled, and if it was forced, well… What else was to be expected. He spoke tentatively. “Yeah, well. We’ll agree to disagree. But hey enough about me. Tell me about art.”_

_That was as blatant a change of topic as possible, but Cas didn’t think he wanted to risk pushing Pretty away completely by making him uncomfortable. “Art is a very… broad topic, Pretty,” he said, chuckling a little. Still, he was always happy to talk about art. “Well. How about I start with my favorite period?” That at least narrowed it a little, even if it was almost guaranteed to bore Pretty to tears. That’s what seemed to happen any time he brought it up to Sam or Jess, or any of their other friends._

_But Pretty leaned against the counter, and seemed to truly enjoy the miniature lecture on Mannerism that Castiel provided. He asked the occasional question, which was always intelligent and focused, but mostly appeared to be content to allow Cas to talk. He did occasionally step away to serve another patron, but that just allowed Cas to watch his fluid movements and brilliant smiles from another angle. He couldn’t say he minded._

_By nearly eleven, Castiel had ordered two more drinks, both straight cokes this time, before he glanced at his watch. He didn’t want to move, but he had an early class, and he needed his sleep. “Well, it’s been wonderful talking to you, Pretty,” he said as he passed his glass back across the bar. “But I have an early class tomorrow. Do you work again this week?”_

_He held his hand out to Pretty, thrilled when the other man took it; he bent over and kissed it gently when Pretty gave the affirmative. “Yeah, I do. All weekend, actually.” He was proud of himself from holding back from asking for a number, or even when Pretty was getting off. He wanted to, but he_ did _have an early class, and he didn’t want to spook the other man. Soulmate or not, he already knew Pretty was worth getting to know._

 _“In that case, Pretty, I’ll be back on Friday.” He shrugged into his coat again, glancing over his shoulder only once while he headed out to the car. It had taken a moment before he could bring himself to drive away._

That first Wednesday had changed something in Castiel. He hadn’t been eager to have a relationship, to settle down. He’d wanted to finish his schooling and get a good job, be able to support a family. Not that there was anything wrong with the way Sam and Jess were doing it, finding each other young and setting up house. But Castiel wanted to know that he could fulfil his duties as a dom in the best way possible. That Wednesday, though, after he met Pretty, the sub had wormed his way into his heart, and Castiel didn’t care if they weren’t mates. He wanted to take Pretty home, wrap him up in a blanket and cuddle until that sad look left his eyes. He wanted to spread him out on the bed and pleasure him until he was begging for more, for it to stop, for _something_. 

_“Hello, Pretty.”_

_Castiel was gratified to hear Pretty holding back a sound of approval when his eyes landed on him. He’d put a lot of effort into choosing his outfit for the date, and clearly Pretty thought the blue tie brought out his eyes, as he had intended._

_“Angel,” he greeted him, and he felt as though Pretty drew it out on purpose, filling the word with sentiment. Of course, he himself had purposely put the affection that was blooming in his chest into the way he said ‘Pretty’, so perhaps he was projecting. Was it normal to feel so much for someone so soon after meeting them?_

_The waitress appeared behind Pretty and urged him to sit at the bar, promising them food and privacy, at least as long as Pretty wasn’t needed. That was a welcome promise, though he did hate to draw the other man away from his duties._

_He loved the blush on Pretty’s cheeks as he thanked her, and they took their seats on opposite sides of the bar. Castiel watched as Pretty fiddled with his cuff; he was clearly uncomfortable, and it made Castiel want to soothe him. He might not date often, but he_ did _do it at least occasionally. He reached out and took the hand, stopping its constant meddling with the fastener of the cuff. He didn’t want Pretty embarrassed by accidentally showing his soulmate’s name, after all._

_“You seem troubled,” he said, trying to put as much comfort into his voice as he could. “Is something wrong?”_

_Pretty glanced down at where Cas was touching him, but he didn’t pull their hands apart. “Uh, no, not really. I just… had a bit of a disagreement with my dad yesterday. He’s never really liked that I presented sub; the two of us don’t get on very well. But he needed a favor yesterday and… Well, I’m just a little down, that’s all.”_

_Castiel shook his head. Of course Pretty would sacrifice his own happiness for someone else; this was only the second time they’d met and he could already see that tendency in his new friend. “That is too bad. But you are a good son, to help him even when you two do not get on.”_

_For himself, Castiel could hardly believe that Pretty’s father would disapprove of how his child presented. It wasn’t as though anyone has a choice how they present. In the old days, certainly, subs were kept out of the public eye. They raised the children, kept the home. But that was decades ago. Today, people were much more open, recognized that it didn’t matter what you presented. There were still bigots, of course, and it sounded that Pretty was raised by one. What a shame._

_Pretty looked up from their joined hands, smiling weakly. It wasn’t his normally glittering smile, but somehow it still made Cas feel better to see it. “Thanks,” he said, and Castiel felt himself smiling in response. “I don’t know why he gets to me so much. But growing up… It was just me and him. No one else. My mom, she split and took my little brother with her, so I didn’t get to know him. And we travelled a lot. It was me and dad against the world. Then I presented, and suddenly I couldn’t do anything right. I know I disappointed him.” His bitter laugh made Cas’ stomach twist. “Why am I telling you this? God. What a downer can I be? I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean for this to be a bitchfest.”_

_Castiel squeezed his wrist, just over his cuff. How was he falling so fast? He wanted nothing more than to engulf Pretty in a hug, to kiss him and make him know that everything was alright. Was it possible to fall in love with someone after just two conversations? Once again, he was speaking without really thinking. “Pretty, it’s fine. Anything that impacts your life, I would want to know about.” Really? So fast? But it was true. “I want to know the good and the bad. I know we haven’t known each other long,” an understatement if Cas had ever heard one, “But… Already I care about you a great deal. And I am sure that your father doesn’t know what hurt he is inflicting on you. Forgive me if this is forward, but if I had the ability, I would protect you from that. I know what it is like,t o go against what your family wants for you.”_

_He did know what it felt like, though he hadn’t meant to say that so easily. How had he become so entwined with a bartender whose name he didn’t even know?_

_“You do, huh?”_

_“Indeed. I have many older brothers, and they have all gone into the family business; my father runs a law office. They assumed I would be joining them. When I declared my intention to become an art history professor, my father disowned me. I only speak to a few of my brothers now, and very infrequently. It is a lonely life, cut off from those you love.”_

_“Yeah, it is.” This time, Pretty squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry to hear that. They don’t know what they’re missing.” The reassuring made his heart jump. He hoped he wasn’t reading too much into everything, but it seemed that Pretty was… intimating that he was possibly feeling some of what Cas was as well._

_“Thank you, Pretty. I am learning to live with it. Making my own family, from those who still care.” He would have said more, but the waitress came with some fries, and so he paused, thanking her when she set the plate between them._

_Pretty continued after she left. “I’m doing the same thing. People who care. That’s a great way to put it. So let’s talk about something else. Something happier… Like the way your hair looks right now.” The flirty grin that spread across Pretty’s face almost took his breath away, and he had to laugh as the dark moment was chased away._

_He couldn’t help but feel like Pretty was… Something special. He’d never found someone he could have a heart to heart with and immediately turn around into something fun. It was like a balm for his soul, and at that moment he made a choice. No matter how long it took, he would earn Pretty’s trust, and his name. They were going to be friends, and more than friends. Soulmates be damned, if he could have just a few weeks with Pretty, he knew he’d never be the same._

That day had been hard for him. He’d gone home, and focusing on work was harder than ever. His mind kept drifting to Pretty… Dean. How could people be cruel to him? In today’s political climate, it was foolish to assume that a sub was anything but capable. Just because he needed structure, orders, didn’t mean that he wasn’t autonomous. There were many subs who were much _more_ competent in certain high pressure jobs, because once they had the routine and expectations, they were able to think outside the box to accomplish what they needed to do.

He could see now that Pretty, the competent and efficient sub, had been beaten down by his father. Pretty was a mask, but a very good one. He was proud of Pretty for what he was able to accomplish. Pretty would go far, he was sure, either managing the bar or picking some other career for himself. He was smart and strong and personable, and Cas could already feel where he would step in to fill the gaps in his own personality. Of course, knowing now that Dean was his soulmate, it made a great deal of sense. 

It was heartbreaking, then, to see Dean. He was a different creature. Dean was… tentative, fearful. So used to being hurt that he _expected_ it, and that made Castiel want to wrap him up in his arms and hold him tight. How was it fair that one man should have to hold in so much pain?  
Castiel wasn’t normally a violent man, but should he ever face Dean’s father, he couldn’t swear to hold his hand back. 

When he was a child, Castiel had dreamed of meeting his soulmate. He hadn’t known if he would present dom or sub, whether he would be leader or follower, and whether his mate would be male or female. What he _did_ know is that he liked to care for people, and he had dreamed of meeting them at a party, or at school. Somewhere he could fetch them drinks, hold their hand. 

Finding out Dean’s name the way he had, to see the fear and pain in his soulmate’s eyes had turned his stomach. He’d done the only thing he could, and grabbed Dean’s wrist. He knew that if his soulmate left, he wouldn’t get him back. Dean had made it clear that he wasn’t looking for a dom, and Cas was willing to go as long as Dean (Pretty) needed to feel comfortable with him. 

Of course Sam hadn’t known they were mates, or that they were taking it slow, or any of the other considerations Cas was taking. But when Dean had stood up so quickly, and tried to run, Cas had felt a spike of panic, and had grabbed for Dean. He’d caught his wrist, knowing that if his soulmate truly wanted to leave, he’d let him go, but _needing_ to talk to him before he did.

_”I can’t… I’ve gotta go.” Dean’s voice was tight with panic, and distantly, Castiel noted that Sam was staring, and sputtered as his brother stood up to go. But Cas reached out and caught Dean’s wrist, desperate to talk to him, just for a moment._

_“Dean, wait. Please. Can we talk?” He shot a pleading glance at Sam, who seemed to catch his meaning, and stood up immediately._

_“I’ll just… take a walk. If you need me, you guys have my number.” Castiel stopped paying attention to him the moment he stopped talking, all his focus on his soulmate._

_He stood up as well and stepped closer, wanting to prevent Dean from leaving. He didn’t want to scare him, but he didn’t want to_ lose _him, either. “Pretty.” He pitched his voice low, forcing Dean to stop panicking at least a little so he could listen. “Pretty, please, stay and talk with me, just for a minute.”_

 _The use of the pseudonym seemed to be enough to catch Dean’s attention, and he turned back. Reluctance was in every line of his body, but he_ did _turn back. “You know my name now, man. You don’t have to use… You can call me Dean.”_

_Castiel felt himself smiling; they were getting somewhere. He gestured for Dean to sit, and then he retook his own seat. He wanted them on equal ground for this conversation. It was very important that Dean not feel too pressured. He didn’t want the sub to bolt. “Do you want me to? To call you Dean? Because nothing has to change now. Not if you don’t want it to. The only difference between now and last night is that you know who I am. But I have known something since that first night, and that is that I want you to be mine.”_

_It felt strange to put that out in the open, but somehow right. He wanted Dean. Everything had slipped into place when he’d learned Dean’s name. It wasn’t that he thought they were magically going to be ‘alright’, but it made sense how fast he’d fallen. How he could see that he and Dean could make it work, if they both wanted it… And he felt like Dean was reaching toward him, too, slowly._

_He could see the hesitance in Dean’s eyes as he looked up. “How can nothing change? I mean… I don’t know how you can want me. I never had someone want me… for me. I’m a terrible sub. I suck at following orders, I hate being spanked, I’ve never even fallen into subspace! I can’t…”_

_Castiel heard the panic in his soulmate’s voice, and he cut it off with a gentle squeeze around the cuff that he knew concealed his own name on Dean’s wrist. “Pretty,” he said, waiting for Dean to stop and look at him. “I want you to be mine. And if that takes three days or three years, I won’t stop waiting for you. But I need you to trust me. I know we haven’t known each other long, but… This…” He tapped Dean’s cuff, then his own, feeling a little thrill go through him when he remembered that he was_ holding Dean Winchester’s hand _. “This says we were meant to be together. This is the validation of the feelings I’ve had since I met you, the reason I couldn’t stop thinking about you from the moment I left the bar last Wednesday night. Pretty, you_ are _my soulmate. The one I’ve been waiting for my whole life. And no matter what anyone else says about you, you are_ perfect _for_ me _.”_

_Dean just stared t him for a moment, and Castiel worried that perhaps he had gone too far. He wanted Dean to trust him. The soulmate bond was supposed to make that easier, of course, but Dean was… hurt. Damaged, and Castiel wanted nothing more than to bandage his wounds and soothe his injured soul. When Dean finally spoke, his words nearly broke Cas’ heart._

_“How can you know that? How can you know everything is going to be all picket fence and apple pies? I mean, yesterday, we were on a date and you didn’t even know my_ name! _”_

_Well, that, Castiel could answer easily. He felt a chuckle bubbling up. “Pretty, yesterday I went on a date with the man I knew I wanted to have forever. Soulmate or not, you were the one for me. And then today I find that fate has dropped you in my lap, literally. I do not have to consider giving anything up, because my perfect match is here, with me.”_

_He did his best to put all his reassurance, the affection that had sprung from.. Nowhere, it seemed, into his voice while he tried to assure Dean that he was going to be in it for the long haul. He wasn’t going to abandon his soulmate, not now that he’d finally found him._

_“I’m still not ready for much,” Dean said after a pause that didn’t quite scare Castiel. Not quite. “I want… I need to get to know you first. But I want to! I want to get to know you, and have… everything. My boss always goes on and on about how amazing it is to be with someone. I never had that. But I need to know you’re going to be able to handle my screw ups. I don’t think I can give myself to someone again just to have it blow up in my face.”_

_Castiel felt himself smiling. Didn’t Dean, Pretty, however you named him, see how perfect he was? Even his hesitancy was endearing… And yes, he’d fallen hard and fast. “Then we will take it slow,” he said with a nod. “Believe me when I say that you are worth getting to know, worth taking the time for. And I want to.” And he might not have had any_ reason _to say that, but he knew it. He had to, because Dean was his soulmate. He knew Dean was worth it, even if Dean himself didn’t see it._

Castiel stopped at a stoplight and glanced over at Dean. Despite the fact that their fingers were still entwined, Dean himself seemed to be working himself up to… Something. He smiled; Dean was perfect. That was the only word, the word that kept popping into his head whenever he thought of the sub sitting next to him.

A few minutes later and they pulled up in front of the small house. Castiel turned off the car, and Dean shot him a glance, smiling shyly. 

“May I walk you up, Pretty?” Castiel didn’t want to push, after all. Dean nodded, not speaking yet, but that didn’t bother Castiel. He reluctantly released Dean’s hand, and stepped out of the car, coming around to help Dean out of the car. No, Dean didn’t _need_ help with that, but Castiel wanted the excuse to hold his hand as much as possible.

They walked to the door in silence, up the sturdy little porch toward the cozy little house. At the door, Dean flushed. “Well...This is me,” he said with a nervous sounding chuckle.

Castiel smiled. “It is, indeed,” he said. He hadn’t let go of Dean’s hand yet; he didn’t want to. He could see Dean was nervous, though, so he knew he ought to leave before it got too far and Dean felt pressured. “Thank you for allowing me to drive you home, Pretty.”

He lifted Dean’s hand and kissed it, drawing another nervous chuckle from Dean.

“Would you… I mean… Would you like to come in?” Dean’s voice was tentative, as though he had made the offer after only a very long time considering it. Well; that made sense out of what Dean had been thinking about in the car.

Castiel knew it was too soon. He looked at his soulmate, his love, and shook his head. “I would like that very much, Pretty. But I think it is… ill-advised.” He spoke quickly again when he saw Dean’s face fall. “This is not a rejection. Pretty, I would most definitely want to come to your house, to spend time with you. But we were not ready at the end of our last date to share our names, and just because there has been an unexpected change in our plan with that, does not mean we should rush ahead.”

He watched Dean’s face carefully, and was gratified to see… relief and a little bit of pleasure in his eyes. Good. He’d made the right choice. “One more thing to clear up before I leave,” he said, waiting until Dean was fully focused on him before he spoke. “Twice now, you have said to me some very clear limits, and I have been remiss in not clarifying that I will respect them.” He smiled, hoping to show that he wasn’t upset or even disappointed by having limits to respect. “Before we do _anything_ in the bedroom, or even if you wanted for me to dominate you outside the bedroom, I want us to draw up a contract. I want to know what your limits are, and for you to know mine, so that we both feel safe and secure.” 

Dean was eyeing him a little bit warily, but finally nodded. “I’ve never… No one has wanted to do that with me. I don’t know how to write one.”

Castiel smiled. “Well, when you are ready to discuss it with me, let me know. I have some sample contracts you can look over.”

Dean smiled, and Castiel felt a knot loosen in his chest. He’d made the right choice. “I’d like that.” Dean said, and squeezed the hand that Castiel still hadn’t released. “But right now, if you’re not coming inside… I’d like it a lot if you kissed me goodnight properly.”

Castiel’s smile morphed into a grin, and he stepped closer. He’d been dreaming about those lips for a week, since he met Pretty the first time. It was refreshing to see a little bit of his ‘Pretty’ peeking out from the scared and sad Dean. “As you wish,” he said, leaning in until their lips met. Dean opened under him immediately, arms winding around Castiel’s waist, holding him close.

Castiel kept the kiss relatively chaste, and after a few moments, he pulled away. “If I am to keep my reserve, I believe I should go,” he said softly. He stepped back and very reluctantly let his hands fall to his sides. “I would very much like to see you again soon, Pretty,” he said, glad to see Dean nod as well.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll call you?” Dean offered it awkwardly, but Castiel smiled and nodded.

“Please, do. Or text me. You have my number. Feel free to contact me at any time; if you ever need me, or simply want to talk to me. You are _never_ a bother to me.” 

Dean flushed, but nodded. “I’ll remember that. And, uh… I’ll talk to you soon. I promise.”

Castiel nodded again. “Goodnight, Pretty,” he said, reaching to squeeze Dean’s shoulder once more before turning and walking off the porch. He knew he wasn’t imagining the eyes on his retreating back, or the softer “Goodnight, Angel,” that followed him as he stepped into the yard and walked toward his car.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter, everyone! I'm trying to focus more on substance and world building, so the chapters are a little meatier, but that's why it's taking so long! I hope you guys enjoy. Once again, thanks to Lisa for all the help and cheerleading! Wouldn't make it without you! :) Enjoy, all.

Dean watched Angel climb into his car and drive away. His lips were tingling, he _swore_ they were tingling from that kiss. Initially, the rejection had stung. Castiel had come to his front porch, walked him to the door and… _hadn’t come in_ when he was invited. The very first time Dean opened himself, his house, his inner sanctum, and Castiel, his _soulmate_ had shut him down. But… But he had been so very kind about it, and part of Dean couldn’t help but admit that he was relieved. He really hadn’t been ready for having someone inside his house, certainly not his soulmate. Someone he’d really be tempted to drop for. He hadn’t been in a scene for over a year, and that wasn’t going to change just because he met his ‘perfect match’. 

He unlocked his door after the tail lights faded, and went inside. He only took a moment to lock the door (John’s voice never let him forget _”always lock the door, boy. And salt line, if you don’t it’s your own dumbass fault if something gets you.”_ ), and to open up the container of Morton’s to draw a fresh line along the inside of the jamb before heading into the living room. 

The couch was threadbare, picked up from a thrift store for twenty five bucks, and it looked like it cost even less. The green fabric (haute couture in the sixties, Dean was sure) was mottled in places with stains he didn’t think too hard about. The important thing about the couch was that it was central, and it was his. He sat down on it in the far corner, tucking himself against the arm and pulling the blanket he kept there over his shoulders. It felt secure there, wrapped up in himself, with a solid wall at his back. No one was getting to him now.

He let his mind drift to Castiel, who knew all the right things to say. _“Before we do_ anything _in the bedroom, or even if you wanted for me to dominate you outside the bedroom, I want us to draw up a contract. I want to know what your limits are, and for you to know mine, so that we both feel safe and secure.”_ A contract. A legal, signed, _written_ contract.

Contracts implied permanence; no one bothered with them for one night scenes. Stupid high school kids, the couple of times Dean had _tried_ for a real relationship, no one had cared. He wasn’t worth it. He hadn’t expected anyone to _ever_ care enough to make it worth his while to write a contract. Yeah, there were supposed to be contract classes in high school, but he hadn’t had them. There was no way in hell John was going to teach him that, either. Dean wasn’t supposed to find someone, do that, _have a life_...

And then Angel appeared into his life. Dean didn’t remember much of his mother, just snippets here and there, but he _did_ remember when she would tuck him into bed at night, and sing to him. Hey Jude, always. And then she’d kiss his forehead, and murmur that ‘angels watch over you’. Certainly Castiel had no idea she said things like that! He smiled despite himself as he remembered the way he’d introduced himself at the bar. Angel. He’d _looked_ like an angel, too, somehow. But maybe that was just his crush talking.

Castiel _wanted_ him, and Dean wanted to _be_ wanted. He always had. He shifted again on the couch, and wrapped the blanket more tightly. Castiel was different than the other doms Dean had met, and not just because he hadn’t come in when he was invited. It seemed like he was a gentler dom; he hadn’t yet tried to force Dean to do anything. It was strange; even on the streets, doms treated him differently because of his cuff. The asshole who’d come in to the shop was just one example. They all tried to use their dynamics to force Dean to do… Whatever the hell it was they thought he needed to do. But Castiel hadn’t ever tried to _force_ anything and while that was a little disconcerting, it was _awesome_ , too. The most Cas had done was order him dinner, and Dean had asked for that, so that made it pretty okay.

Dean wrapped his blanket a little more tightly around his shoulders, and then, after a moment’s consideration, toes off his shoes and pulled his feet up too. It was too late, had been too draining of a day. He just couldn’t think about this any more. He was debating getting up and going to bed, even though it was early, when his cell phone went off.

**Angel: I just wanted you to know I got home safe. Good night, Pretty. Sleep well.**

Dean felt himself flushing, despite Castiel not even being there. It took a moment before he figured out how to bring himself to respond. He smiled as he looked at the screen, a small bloom of warmth in his chest. He _was_ glad that the dom had gotten home safely.

 **Pretty: Glad to hear it. Sleep well.** He didn’t add anything else, because he really wasn’t sure what to say. But it was good to know that Castiel cared enough to make sure he knew that his dom was home safe, that he’d thought of Dean before he went about the rest of his night.

He didn't usually sleep on the couch but tonight he felt too unsettled to sleep alone in his big bed. The idea of getting out of his little nest was… decidedly unappetizing. He curled into the corner further and let himself imagine that it was Cas curled behind him, not the couch cushions. _“You’ve been so good for me today, Pretty… You’re such a good boy.”_ Phantom arms curled around his shoulders, holding him tight and stroking his hair. It didn't take long before he drifted off. 

Dean woke the next morning hunched in a ball, a crick in his neck, to the sound of his alarm blaring two rooms over. He groaned and stretched, rolling off the couch and arching his back. “Damn couch,” he muttered under his breath as he padded in socked feet over to his bedroom to shut off the alarm.

A hot shower was a necessity because of the tight muscles in his neck, and he resolutely didn’t think of Cas as the steaming spray hit his back. He didn’t imagine thathis dom was in the shower with him, reverently stroking his body with the soft cloth and body wash Dean preferred, covering every inch of him. He didn’t imagine that Castiel’s broad, warm hands scrubbed his hair, gently covering his eyes with one hand while he rinsed the shampoo out with the other. He _definitely_ didn’t imagine that when he was clean, a hand slid down to his groin, jacking him off in firm, consistent strokes that promised consistent pleasure, hitting just the right points time after time after time…

Dean groaned as he came hard, and quickly, almost guiltily, washed the evidence down the drain. He scrubbed himself clean and then got out of the water. _”Shit. I don’t have time for this. I’m going to be late for work._ ” A feeling of… almost shame washed through him. It felt disingenuous to think of Cas that way. Yes, they were probably headed that way but it didn’t seem fair to assume Castiel would want to do that for him. Wasn’t that a sub’s job? He couldn’t remember his father ever talking about a dom washing their sub, or cooking for them, or doing any of the cleaning. Looking back, those had always been Dean’s jobs, even before he knew he _was_ a sub. But with the exception of cleaning and maintaining his weapons, John Winchester didn’t do ‘sub’s work’. Why would Castiel be any different?

He dressed for work mechanically, his hand straying occasionally to the cuff that hid Castiel’s name from the world. By the time he _got_ to work, he was completely lost and distracted.

_“Dean, have you got that dinner done yet?”_

_John Winchester looked up from his research to the little kitchenette of their motel room, to where Dean stood mixing a pot at the stove._

_“Almost, dad. The garlic bread comes out in five minutes, and then I’ll drain the pasta.”_

_John grunted and turned back to his work. Since Dean had dropped out of high school, it had gotten a lot easier to complete his daily chores. He had more time to do them in, and could manage the shopping and usually some research and stuff too. That was way more helpful to dad than getting beat up and harassed at school._

_By the time dinner was done, Dean had washed the couple of other things in the sink; less work for himself later. John didn’t even look up as Dean handed him a plate of spaghetti and meatballs, and Dean went back into the kitchen to eat his own food. The less interaction he had with John, the better._

“Winchester? Hey! Dean! Earth to Dean!”

He looked up sharply and realized he’d been tuning out the noise of the shop, lost in his own memories. He looked up at Eric, one of the other mechanics, who was passing him a box. “Sorry, dude,” he said, grinning sheepishly. “Long night.”

The taller man snorted. “Yeah, yeah, well, just because you can’t keep it in your pants doesn’t mean you can fall asleep on the job, Winchester. Take these spark plugs to bay two, would you? I’m still looking for the right fucking headlight.”

Dean hid his grimace; it wasn’t like Eric knew all his big talk about ‘a dom for every night’ was all show. Really, only Mal knew that once he was off the clock he pretty much was a hermit. He liked it that way; he didn’t want people to think he was some kind of conquest, or something, and the best way to make people leave him alone, oddly enough, was to ‘get around’. Who wants the playboy?

“Sure, man,” he said, taking the box and heading to bay two. He let his mind wander again while he walked; what would Cas be like in the house? Not that he was thinking of moving in with the guy or anything. But Dean knew he handled his own house okay. He managed expenses, nothing major. He didn’t keep a pristine house, though, and Cas had grown up with _maids_. Was he going to have to keep up with Cas’ childhood ideal of a perfect housekeeper? And he didn’t fool himself. He was decent in the kitchen, sure, but he’d never really done more than open cans and stuff. Maybe doctor it up a little. Castiel surely had a more refined palate. Would Dean have to take cooking lessons or something? Probably Castiel would want that.

Maybe he’d want Dean to quit working at the garage… Of course, Castiel was a poor student, too, by his own admission, so maybe two incomes would be good. He knew some subs only worked until they got married, but there weren’t many like Mal, who did things like outright own their own businesses. He didn’t remember what Sue did, but she really wasn’t like most doms Dean knew, from the few times he’d met her over the years.

Castiel wasn’t like other doms either, though. Cas was… kinder. Gentler. He wanted a contract before they did anything, he wanted to make sure Dean knew what he was getting into… Was it too much to say that maybe he just wanted Dean to be happy?

He was startled out of the memory of Castiel’s hand in his while his dom ( _his dom!_ ) ordered dinner for him at the restaurant, by a hand on his shoulder. 

He looked up, and Mal was watching him worriedly. “Dean, what’s gotten into you today?” 

“What? Nothin’, Mal. Just a long night. What do you need?”

Mal raised an eyebrow. “Well first of all, it’s lunch time,” he said, pointing at the clock, and to the empty breakroom. No coats hung on the wall, and Dean flushed. 

“Oh, right. I guess I’m just not very hungry today.” His stomach growled as he finished speaking, and Mal snorted, obvious how much he believed _that_.

“Uh-huh,” he said, a firm hand on Dean’s back guiding him to the breakroom. “Everyone else went out for lunch today, so it’s just you and me. What’s eatin’ you, Dean?”

Dean shook his head again. “It’s nothing, really! I just went out for dinner with my brother last night, and his roommate showed up.” He flushed. “It was Angel. His roommate, I mean.” He looked up. ‘I guess I was just thrown for a loop. I mean, yeah, this isn’t a SMALL town but come on, who figures they’ll run into someone like that? It’s like somethin’ out of a chick flick.”

Mal chuckled, but it was good natured, and he shook his head. “Wow. I never expected to hear _that_. So tell me you at least learned Angel’s name last night?”

Dean nodded, but didn’t volunteer the information, lapsing back into silence.

Mal watched him, concerned. “Dean, something _is_ bothering you, I can tell. Something more than the surprise that your brother is living with your beau. What’s going on?”

Dean looked up from picking listlessly at his sandwich. “It’s nothin’ Mal, really. I promise. I just need… A little time.”

The older sub watched him eat. “Hmm… Maybe.” That was all he’d offer. “You’re a prickly one, Dean,” he said after a moment. “You know I’m here for you, right?”

Dean flushed. “Yeah, I know Mal.” He couldn’t meet Mal’s eyes this time, and they fell back to his sandwich, now covered in bits of crumb. “I just… It’s not something I can talk about, okay?”

Mal nodded his understanding, and Dean relaxed. They worked in a very public place, and Dean was a very private person. Mal smiled. “I hear you, Dean,” he said, reaching out to pat the young man’s shoulder gently. They went back to lunch, and Mal was unsuccessful in drawing Dean out of his head for really, anything else.

As he went back to work, Dean couldn’t help his mind drifting to realizing who Cas was the night before. He hadn’t let Dean flee; Dean could still feel the warm grip on his wrist, pinning him in place as firmly as any shackles. But he’d said ‘please’. He had asked to talk it out, made it clear that talking was _all_ they were going to do, any time soon. 

He missed his voice already, and that was hardly fair. For someone who’d never even seriously dated… He wasn’t used to pining. _Snap out of it, Winchester… He’s just a guy. That’s all. Name on your wrist or not. Don’t go fallin’ for somebody… He may say all the right things but you just don’t know. Dad was right about some things; you have responsibilities here, you can’t give them all up just because someone comes in and sweeps you off your feet…_

But the memory of a warm hand on his thigh, fingers tangled with his, a kiss under his yellow porch light. It was chilly and perfect, strong arms on his shoulders, anchoring him and grounding him… He clenched his fists at the phantom feel of stubble against his cheeks, soft lips pressing against his… 

“Dean?” Mal’s hand on his shoulder startled him and he blinked his eyes open.

“Mal,” he said, clearing his throat a little. “What’s, ah, what’s up?”

“Get your coat,” Mal said, gesturing to the other men who were already starting to leave. “You’ve been staring at those spark plugs for twenty five minutes. And you haven’t told Wilson to shut up even once.”

Dean blinked when he realized that somehow the entire afternoon had passed, and he really wasn’t sure if he was done doing whatever it was he had been standing there trying to do. “I, uh… Right. I’ll just get my coat, see you tomorrow, yeah?”

Mal snorted. “Nope. Get your coat, you’re coming home with me, for dinner. I don’t know what’s eating you, Dean, but I’m not gonna let you go home alone and stew. Come on now.”

He put just a little bit of steel into his voice, and Dean found himself agreeing without thinking. He pulled on his leather jacket and returned to Mal’s side, shooting his boss a confused look. “Don’t you need to call Sue? I mean, wouldn’t your domme want to give you permission to bring someone home?”

Mal frowned a little bit. “Dean, it’s my house too,” he said, pausing to lock the door as he turned. “Yeah, I give her the final say in a lot of things, but I don’t need to call her for every little decision, Dean.”

The younger man flushed. “Well I just didn’t want you to get in trouble,” he said, glancing up. In his experience, bringing people home without checking with John first was a _very_ good way to be acquainted with John’s belt, real fast. And even now, in his own home, there was so much he didn’t want people to see…

Mal reached out and squeezed Dean’s shoulder. “That’s good of you, but don’t worry about it. Sue and I don’t have a relationship like that.” He guided Dean to his car, a 1995 Buick Regal. Dean didn’t know why the guy seemed to love the car so much, but he knew that Mal was really proud of it. It was in pristine condition, and more than once Mal had bragged about finding some part or another to maintain the thing.

Dean slid inside the passenger door and sat down, buckling his seatbelt at Mal’s insistent gaze. As the motor started, Mal spoke again.

“Okay, so really, what’s going on? You look… Confused.” That was the best word for it, Dean thought. Confused. He was confused; about a lot of things.

“Well…” The car was a much better place for this conversation, Dean thought. Well, at least, better than the garage. “It’s that dom. Sam’s roommate.” He looked over at Mal. “I don’t know, really. I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, I guess. But…” He trailed off. “I’m really not good at this _feelings_ stuff, Mal. I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

Mal nodded, starting the car. “Well we won’t talk about it for now, then. But you haven’t been yourself all day, Dean. I’m not going to leave you to stew by yourself. You need to be with people for a while.” He grinned. “Anyway, Sue’s been buggin’ me to find out when I was going to bring you by for dinner. If I wasn’t so secure in my manhood, I’d think she had a little crush on you.” He nudged Dean with his elbow, and finally the younger man smiled back.

“Yeah, well, I’m just so hot. All the doms have it in for me,” he said, his voice only a little shaky. 

Mal laughed, patting Dean’s knee gently, before putting the car into gear. They were driving a few moments later, and he was quiet while they drove. Dean was grateful; he didn’t want to have this conversation in a car, even if (now that he was _there_ ) he did want to hear from another sub. He needed reassurance that he was making the right choices, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

They pulled up to Mal’s house less than twenty minutes later. Dean hesitated only briefly but stepped out when Mal motioned for him to do so. “Come on,” he said, patting Dean’s shoulder firmly. “Sue will be glad to see you.”

Dean followed Mal inside. The little house was all warm colors inside; reds and yellows, with a light wood flooring that somehow made it all more inviting. Dean self-consciously toed his boots off on the mat inside the front door, not wanting to risk tracking any grease or dirt from the shop into the pristine house.

They walked further in, and found Sue sitting in the kitchen with a pile of papers. Dean smiled as he always did; she really was a lovely woman. She looked up when she heard their footsteps, and brushed her strawberry blond hair back from her face. “Mal! Hey baby…” She smiled and stood, less smoothly than usual thanks to her prominent belly. “And Dean… I didn’t know you were coming for dinner! Hello!”

Dean flushed, looking away. “Only if it’s not inconvenient, ma’am,” he said, falling back on his father’s training for this kind of situation. “I know Mal didn’t call ahead, and…”

Mal frowned, and squeezed Dean’s shoulder. “Dean. I said it was fine,” he said, a little bit of his concern drifting into his voice. 

Sue watched the two of them with a little bit of concern in her own face, and stepped forward. She leaned up and kissed Mal’s cheek gently in hello. “I’ve got dinner in the oven,” she said. “So it’s gonna be like half an hour. Why don’t you boys go talk in the office? I’ve got some paperwork to do out here anyway.”

Mal nodded and closed his hand a little more tightly on Dean’s shoulder. “That sounds great. Thanks, babe.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek and then turned away, drawing Dean with him down the hall a little further. They stepped into a room with a desk with a computer, some book shelves, and a couple of comfortable chairs. Mal sat down in one and pointed to the other, reaching behind Dean to close the door. “Alright, Dean. Talk.”

Dean sat in the indicated chair and folded over, pressing his elbows on his knees. Where was he going to start? “How did you know?” He spoke after only a moment, and looked up at Mal, his eyes wide and a little bit sad. 

“How did I know what?” Mal was careful to give Dean space; Dean appreciated not being crowded. 

“Sue. I mean, I know she’s on your wrist and everything. But how did you know it was okay? That she was going to… Take care of you? How did you know you could just let her run your life?”

Mal frowned. “Woah woah. She doesn’t ‘run my life’, Dean,” he said. He didn’t sound angry, which reassured Dean. “She and I are in a partnership. Neither of us would be as whole without the other. What brings this on?”

Dean looked down at his hands again, shaking his head. “It’s just… This dom, I met.” He couldn’t look at Mal while he talked about this; there was too much _something_ there. “He wants to be exclusive. And he says he’s willing to take his time, he _wants_ to take his time. He wants a contract and safe words and… God. I’ve never had anyone want that before, with me.” He finally looked up at Mal, eyes wide and hopeless. “What if I’m not good enough?”

Mal rocked back a little in his chair, watching Dean carefully for a moment before he spoke. “I’ve thought for a long time that I want to beat the shit out of your dad,” he said, his voice just a little bit angry. “Dean, you’re one of the best employees I’ve ever had. Smart, strong, you take direction well. You’re a real asset in my shop. The idea that you’re ‘not good enough’ for _anyone_ is bullshit.”

Dean’s eyes widened. He’d never heard Mal talk like that before. He clenched his fists against the instinctive defense of his father. Mal was right; John Winchester really wasn’t a terribly supportive father. The Winchester men didn’t go in for chick-flick moments, as a general rule.

“It’s not dad’s fault,” he tried weakly, knowing even as he did that Mal wasn’t going to let it slide.

“Bull,” he said again, his voice firmer. “Your father, by the couple of times I’ve heard you talk about him, didn’t do anything except shame you ever since you Presented. And I don’t know what kind of relationships he had with submissives, but… You’re not a _slave_ , Dean. I mean, I know there are some relationships that work like that, but that’s a _personal choice_. Anyone that tries to force that kind of a commitment, or twenty-four-seven lifestyle, where you’re not comfortable with it? Is wrong.”

Dean frowned a little. It wasn’t _exactly_ like this was a revelation; Dean had taken all the classes, knew all the talking points. But that didn’t mean it was what he had seen in the real world, and most of the men he’d been with over the years weren’t interested in the kind of relationship that Dean wanted (even if he wouldn’t admit it.) “I hate being spanked,” was what he said a moment later, his voice tentative. “I hate pain at all, actually. I really don’t like being sworn at, or begging, or… Any of it, really. I’m a terrible sub.”

Mal sighed, and this time when he spoke, his voice was sad. “Dean,” he said. “I’m sorry that no one has taken the time to really help you figure out _your_ dynamic.” He shook his head, and reached out to squeeze Dean’s hand. “But just because you don’t like pain, or humiliation, doesn’t make you a terrible sub. It makes you a bad match for sadists, sure. But I can virtually guarantee you that when you meet your soulmate, they won’t be a sadist. Because you’re not a masochist. And even if you _don’t_ meet your soulmate, if you avoid sadists, I think you’ll be much happier. This guy you’re talking to, who wants to have a contract, have you discussed it?”

Dean felt another little twist in his stomach at that; he had already met Cas, but they really hadn’t discussed much. “Not really. Not yet. I mean. I told him I don’t like pain, but…” He trailed off. Everyone he’d ever played with wanted to do humiliation, or pain, or both. 

“So stick to your guns.” Mal’s voice was firm and he squeezed Dean’s hand again. “If he’s serious about you, Dean, and it’s _great_ if he is, then you need to make it clear what _you_ need. Because if your needs don’t match up, it isn’t going to work for either of you.”

Dean looked down at his hands again, at the cuff on his wrist that hid Castiel’s name from the rest of the world. “God,” he said, shaking his head a little bit. “I… There’s a reason I never play with anyone,” he said with a sigh. “All this shit is so ridiculously complicated.” And ultimately led to him letting the dom down.

Mal chuckled a little. “Yeah, it is. Listen, do you still have your Sub’s Guide to Dynamics? You know, the one we all got in like, the sixth grade? If you don’t, you can borrow mine.” 

Dean flushed. “No, no, I’ve got it somewhere. But I’m pretty sure I haven’t opened it since, like, _the sixth grade_.” His tone was mildly mocking. 

“Yeah, well, it’s got good info, Dean. Open it, read it. What you find might surprise you. And there’s some good sample contracts in it, too. If you have any questions, you know I’m always happy to talk.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, no, I get it.” He looked at the door briefly. “So… Ah… If it’s not too private to ask… How do things work with you? I mean… Sue seems… pretty easy going.”

It was Mal’s turn to blush. “Well, yeah. Most of the time. Our contract does have some negotiated punishments, and I _am_ a little bit of a masochist. Clamps, the strap, a flogger… Some of it can be beautiful, Dean. And I’ve never met someone who could put me down in subspace so fast.” He leaned back, his hand finally slipping away from Dean’s. “I knew she was the right one from the first time we played together. Even without her name on my wrist. She’s the yin to my yang, or something like that.” He chuckled. “But outside the bedroom, we’re equals, mostly. The garage is mine, no questions asked. When she has the baby… We’ve talked about it, and it’ll be easier for her to take time off to stay at home than it would be for me.”

Dean felt his eyes widen; child rearing was pretty much universally ‘the sub’s job’. In his experience, it was really unusual for the dom to take off time to stay with the child, except for the mother’s initial maternity leave after giving birth. “She’s willing to do that?” It spilled out before he could stop himself, and Mal sighed.

“Wow. Your dad did a number on you,” he said, shaking his head again. “Yeah, Dean, she is. Because at the end of the day, she knows how important the garage is to me. I couldn’t just quit, it would tank the business. And it’s important to both of us that the kid have a parent at home.So I’m happy to have her do that, just like she’s happy to do it.”

Dean felt his head reeling. There were questions he wanted to ask, but he really wasn’t sure how to phrase them. Luckily, Mal stepped in to answer them anyway.

“Day to day, here, we’re pretty evenly split. She usually cooks, if she’s home first, and I do the dishes. If I’m home first, it’s the other way. She does the laundry, I do the vacuuming… I maintain the cars, she scrubs the bathtubs. Dean, it’s all about the give and take. If I really loved the domestic chores, I’d probably do more of them. Maybe that’s in your dynamic, too, caring for the one you love by doing for them. If it is, great. If it’s not, well, I’m sure the two of you will come up with your own answer to divvying those things up. It works for us.”

Dean thought back to all the years living with John, how he’d done all the cooking and cleaning and laundry, even before he presented. How the compliments had made him feel good, even if they were backhanded or an afterthought. What would Cas think, if Dean didn’t want to be spanked, but wanted to… polish his shoes, or something? “I… never thought about that,” he said finally, shaking his head again. He took a deep breath, and blew it out again. “Thanks, man. I… I’m sure I’ll have more questions? I mean, you’re the only person I think I could talk to about this stuff.” He winced. “And now I sound like something out of a hallmark movie or something.” He stood up abruptly; he just didn’t have the mental energy for any more _sharing_.

Just then, a knock sounded on the door, and Sue stuck her head in. “Dinner’s up, boys, if you’re ready for it.”

Dean’s ‘Pretty’ grin slid across his lips, ready as he was to _not_ think so hard anymore. “Sounds great,” he agreed, shooting one more glance at Mal before he headed to the door.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I'm SOOO sorry it's taken so long! I've been super busy with some family issues, and then laptop issues. It's been a rough couple weeks. But I should be able to update a little more often though! This chapter is a little shorter than I'd like, but I think it's all the chapter that is there. Next chapter ASAP, promise!
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me. You guys are so awesome!!
> 
> Dare

Sam stared at the phone in his hands. His thumb hovered over the ‘call mom’ button, but he finally clicked the home screen and sent it away. At the end of the day, he just couldn’t do it. He needed to talk to Dean. His brother. His mind reeled away from that again. As smoothly as he was taking it,(because who would fake that to a complete stranger?) Sam still couldn’t totally believe his brother was back from the dead.

Finally, though, he picked up the phone and dialed a number that was getting more familiar by the day. The phone picked up on the second ring, and he felt himself smile a little bit. “Hello?”

“Hey, Dean, it’s Sam. Listen, I was wondering if you were free this afternoon?” It was a Saturday, so Sam was hopeful. A bar job seemed like it would be more evening than daytime, anyway. 

There was a pause, then an affirmative grunt. “Yeah, sure, man… You wanna get together?” 

Sam leaned back in his chair and crossed his feet in front of him. “Yeah, if you can spare the time, I thought lunch might be nice. Somewhere easy, there’s a sandwich shop on fifth that’s great. My treat. I… really wanna chat and the phone isn’t the best place.”

He heard Dean shifting around again. “Sandwiches sound good,” the older man said. “How about one thirty?”

“Sounds great, see you then, man.” Sam pushed down his nerves. He really didn’t want to talk about this, but he needed to tell mom. The longer he waited, the worse it was going to be when she found out.

The click of the phone hanging up meant he could flop back, letting out a huff of breath. This was a complex situation that he’d never known how to really deal with in his own head. 

__

_“Mommy? What happened to Dee?”_

_Sam Campbell sat on the floor, staring at the picture his mother kept on her dresser. In it, was a little boy holding a baby on a couch. Sam knew the picture had come from his grandparent’s house, because all their pictures were gone._

_Mary Campbell looked over from their little kitchen into the living room where Sam sat. His question wasn’t totally unexpected. He asked questions like that more often, now that he was old enough to ask who was in the pictures. He wanted to know all about his older brother; Mary only wished she had more to tell him._

_Sam heard her bite back a small sigh, drying her hands on a towel and coming to sit behind him on the couch. “He went to heaven,” she said sadly, as she had several times before. “In the fire.” She picked up her little blond boy, plopping him onto her lap, and Sam looked over his shoulder at her._

_“Why? Didn’t he want to stay with us?”_

_Sam reached up to brush the tears from her eyes as she continued. “Of course he wanted to, sweetie,” she murmured, stroking his hair. “But he had to go. I’m sure he misses us very much.” She kissed the top of his head, and reached out one long finger to touch the smiling face of the boy in the picture. Sam had learned not to ask about Daddy, because that always made Mommy really cry.  
“Oh…” Sam wished he’d gotten to meet Dee, because it would be nice to have a playmate. Sam had friends, of course, but a brother? That would be _ the best.

Sam remembered many times staring at that picture, or ones like it. His mother’s parents had lots of pictures of the two of them, and of Dean. His father was strangely absent from most photographs; Sam had only seen a few in his whole life. He knew now it was because, after Dean’s death, when his father had disappeared, his grandparents had burned almost all the photographs of the man. Sam couldn’t blame them; when he was old enough to learn about the “Family Business”, he found out that his father had abandoned Dean to the fire the demon had tried to use to kill his mother. Only her own hard learned protections had saved the two of them. 

The demon was gone now; his grandparents had tracked it down and killed it, but Sam knew his mother was haunted by the child she couldn’t save.

And now he learned that she was wrong; she’d mourned all those years for a child she should have had. He felt, as he had frequently over the last few weeks since he’d met Dean, a surge of anger against John Winchester. He had stolen Mary’s child, and Sam’s brother and playmate. And meeting Dean, Sam knew he’d done a lot of damage to Dean’s psyche, too.

He stood up and headed to get ready to meet Dean. When he walked into the restaurant, he saw the older man already sitting at a table, and he smiled broadly. “Hey man,” he said, heading over to where the mechanic sat, leather jacket put on the back of his chair and big mug of coffee sitting in front of him. “Thanks for meeting me on such short notice.”

Sam slid into the seat opposite and pushed his own jacket off. He flagged the waitress down, ordering his own cup of coffee while he perused the menu. 

“Sure,” Dean said, leaning back so he could focus on his own menu. “I didn’t have any plans today anyway. Have you ever had the bacon chicken club? Man, I am a sucker for anything with bacon.”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “No, I haven’t. But they make a killer homemade mayo, so probably anything is good.” He settled on the avocado chicken sandwich and seasoned fries, and then set his menu aside. He really didn’t want to have this conversation, but he knew it needed to happen. It took a moment but Dean seemed to realize that Sam had fallen silent, and put away his own menu.

“Okay, spill,” Dean said, nerves tinging his voice. Sam hated to hear that, but this was a necessary conversation. He cleared his throat, so he didn’t embarrass himself by doing something like, crack his voice.

“Right. You were dead. I mean, that’s what we thought. I knew I had a brother but I thought you died in the fire.” It all came out in a rush, like once he opened the floodgates, there they came. “And mom… I didn’t tell her. That I found you, I mean. I wanted to tell you, first, because I don’t know what her reaction will be.”

That last wasn’t totally accurate. He had a pretty good idea what mom was going to do; Mary Campbell was a Hunter through and through, and she was going to probably flip her shit. Sam didn’t know about anything that would bring people back from the dead, but that didn’t mean that his mother or Grandfather didn’t. They had a lot more experience than he did, after all.

Sam himself… knew about things in the dark, but he didn’t like to dwell on them. He took precautions, but he knew he didn’t want to be a Hunter, not like his mother. It was a hard life, and he wasn’t sure he could handle it. 

Dean frowned. “Dead?” His voice was sad. “Yeah. I can see that. I, ah, never really asked where you guys were, but dad never made any kind of secret that something awful happened to mom… I didn’t really remember you, even.But…” He shrugged. “I kind of think mom was going to leave him. Because he never talked about her… nicely. So yeah. I think that she probably was, and I can see him not wanting a baby. But I was almost four. More self-sufficient. He’s a possessive bastard. He wouldn’t want to give either of us up, but certainly not one he could take care of easier.”

He shifted on his seat and swallowed a big swig of coffee, looking like he was going to come out and say something. Before he could, though, the waitress appeared, and they each placed their order. Sam stared at his hands, glad for the distraction. It was still weird, knowing that Dean hadn’t really known who he was. He looked up when the waitress was gone. “Yeah. So I think… Mom is going to take it a little… hard.” He paused. This really wasn’t the place to talk about what mom was going to do. 

“Yeah… I can see that. I mean… That first day, you said you would have thought she would mention if there was another kid.”

Sam flushed. “Did I say it that way? I don’t really remember; it’s kinda hazy. I mean, like I said, I thought you were dead. I might have been thinking there were three of us or something. But I grew up knowing mom lost a kid. She never really got over it, you know?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. I mean… God. I still can’t believe I _forgot you_ , man. So yeah. I can see her taking it hard.”

Dean leaned forward, hope shining in his eyes, and he smiled. “So… Tell me about her. Mom. Dad really never talked about her. What’s she like?” 

Yeah, they’d had that conversation, but Sam could tell now that this was… More, for Dean. He leaned back and sipped his coffee. “Well, I said she teaches martial arts. She’s awesome. I’ve never seen someone with as much energy as she has. She owns her own mixed martial arts studio. She taught me to fight; I actually have a club on campus I participate in, to stay in shape.” He paused, thinking. _What would I like to know about mom, if I never knew her?_ He’d figured out pretty early that he didn’t care about what John Winchester was like. The man had done so much damage, to all of them. But Mary was different. He smiled. “She’s a terrible cook. Seriously, I don’t know why she’s so awful. But she can bake, man. Awesome baking skills. And she taught me a lot about… A lot of things, really. And grandma Campbell can cook, so I’ve learned a lot from her.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Wait… Are… I mean… Mom’s parents. Are they still alive?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah… Actually, we lived with them for a while when I was really little. Grandpa taught me to shoot, and grandma taught me some… art..” Well. Runes, and sigils. But he pulled himself back from saying that; how awkward would that be to explain?

“Oh… Wow.” Dean’s grin was infectious. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a crack shot, Sammy.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m okay. I mean, I think grandpa would like it if I practiced a little more, but I was never awful, either. I’m better at drawing and book stuff, though…” He grinned again. “You’d never guess, huh?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah… I’d never have guessed,” he agreed, teasingly. “So, wow. Close family… Any cousins?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, a couple. Well, mom’s cousins, and their kids. Mom’s an only child, so no first cousins. But we’ve spent time together, and I’ve gone on a couple family trips.” He shrugged and leaned back when the waitress appeared with their sandwiches. 

“That’s awesome.” Sam detected a little bit of winsome regret in Dean’s tone. “I bet that was really cool, having people to hang out with and stuff.”

Sam nodded; he could hear the loneliness in Dean’s voice. “It was,” he agreed. “But you know… I always wished I’d had a big brother. I missed having someone _around_. You always were a presence in our house, even though we didn’t think you were alive.”

“Well… It’s good to know you’re loved, I guess,” Dean said, though he didn’t sound particularly sure of that. “So… What are you going to do about mom? I mean… You can’t _not_ tell her about me forever,” he said. 

Sam took a swig of his coffee, considering. “Yeah,” he agreed. “You’re right. I was actually thinking… Family weekend is coming up next week. Mom’s planning on driving some of my stuff up that I forgot.” He looked at Dean, and a hopeful smile crossed his lips. “You think maybe you would want to meet her then? I think it’s better if we do it in person.”

Sam was gratified to see Dean’s face pale a little but then the older man nodded. “I’ll be there,” he said. “I can… even get a day off at the bar, if you think she’d want to spend time with me?”

There it was again. That heartbreaking hesitance. Sam knew once mom was convinced that Dean was the real deal, she wasn’t going to want to leave him alone. “Are you kidding me?” Sam grinned. “I think once she finds out you’re here, she’s going to stay at least a week.”

Dean still looked disbelieving, but Sam knew that would change once he met Mary. “I… really don’t know what to say,” Dean said eventually, and Sam nodded. He could tell Dean was having some trouble with all of this. 

“Yeah. Listen, dude. It’s a lot to take in, trust me, I know. But mom… She had a really tough time, for a while, when we left dad. It’s gonna do her good to see you.” He grinned. “You’re family. That’s that.”

Dean’s chuckle was a little shaky, but he nodded. “Well. Thanks. So. Tell me more about yourself. I mean. I know you’re a super genius, and you take halfway decent care of your car. You’re a dom...’ He gestured to the cuff on Sam’s left wrist. “And Cas told me he lives with ‘a friend and his girlfriend,” so you must have a girl.”

Sam blinked, but nodded. “Well, you put that together fast,” he said with a grin. “Yeah. I have a girlfriend. Jess. She’s a pre-med student; she and I moved in at the end of the last break this semester. She’s pretty awesome… You’re going to really like her.” He took a bite of his sandwich and chewed before reaching to touch Dean’s hand. “Hey, why don’t you come over for dinner? Pick a day. We’d love to have you. Jess makes a mean enchilada.”

Dean got that heartbreaking look again. “You want me to come to your house for dinner? I dunno man. I work a lot of evenings and weekends and stuff…” He clearly was hesitant, but Sam shook his head, unwilling to let the mechanic off that easily.

“Absolutely,” he said firmly. “Whatever day you pick. You’re my brother, and I can’t wait to show you off to the rest of my family. _Our_ family.” He grinned. “Really.”

The rest of their meal was spent talking about inconsequentials, as Dean flushed to the roots of his hair and firmly turned his attention to his sandwich. 

They parted ways with a hug, and Dean’s promise to call with a day for dinner soon.

At home, Jess was just walking in from her Saturday lab. He grinned as he met her on the steps of their apartment, and moved forward to wrap arms around her waist and kiss her cheek. “Hey, pretty lady,” he said, hugging her close. 

“Hey, you!” She tilted her face up to kiss him properly, and then finished unlocking the door. “Where were you? You don’t usually go out on Saturdays…”

Sam shook his head. “I met Dean for lunch. I wanted to get his opinion on meeting mom at family weekend.” He followed her into the apartment and toed off his shoes before dropping onto the couch and tugging her onto his lap. She subsided with a giggle and a yelp.

“So he’s going to be coming for dinner? When? I can’t wait to meet him. If he’s anything like you, he’s going to be a hoot.”

Sam sobered a little, wrapping his arm around Jess’ waist and fiddling gently with the cuff on her wrist. It baffled him how two people with the same dynamic can have so many different conceptions. Sure, it worked for them that a lot of the time Sam ran the show, but his ‘fights’ with Jess were some of the highlights of his week. “Yeah. He’s a good guy, Jess.” He smiled, kissing her throat. “But he’s a little… delicate.” 

She pulled back a little, giving him an assessing look. “You’re not just saying that because you have your ‘subs rights’ blinders on, are you?” 

He shook his head. “No, no… Trust me. I mean, some of it sure, I’m more aware of it, but…” He sighed. “His dad… Our dad. Whatever. He did a real number on Dean. One second he’s totally solid and secure in himself, the next he’s like… shocked that I was inviting him over for dinner.” He squeezed Jess in a gentle hug. “It’s gonna be… different.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re going to be great,” Jess said, hugging him back. “Let me know what day, I’ll make enchiladas… What are you laughing at?”

He was still chuckling as he answered. “That’s what I said I thought you’d make, that’s all,” he said, leaning up to kiss her softly. “So how was your lab?”

She groaned and flopped down so her head rested on his shoulder. “Ugh. I swear, Professor Miller has it in for the subs in the class. He’s just… He never has a dom fetch _anything_ , and if it wasn’t for the fact that my handwriting is impeccable…” She grinned a little bit, but it was wan; clearly this was a rough subject. “Then I’d probably have way worse than a B. We were comparing notes, Kris, Tina and me. We had the _same_ answers to some questions on these last couple exams, and they both got them wrong, because they were ‘illegible’.” Her voice was cold. “If it doesn’t get better by midterm, we’re going to take a petition to the dean. Seriously, Sam, it’s enough to make me sick.”

Sam frowned, but he knew Jess liked to fight her own battles, so he simply lifted his hands, beginning to rub at her tight shoulders firmly. “Yeah, I hear you,” he agreed. “You know I’ll help however you need, but I know you can do it.” He leaned in and kissed her throat softly. “How about you let me take care of you, hmm? Some stress relief?” 

Jess seemed to relax minutely at that, and dropped her head back onto his shoulder. “I’d like that very much, Sir,” she said. 

Sam kept rubbing for a couple of minutes, until he felt the stress mostly leave her shoulders. Then he shifted, and pinched her rear end. “Go into the bedroom and put on the red outfit I bought for your birthday,” he ordered, putting a little steel into his voice. She shuddered just a little at the tone, and the grin she gave him was a challenge. 

“What if I want to put on the blue ones?”

Sam raised an eyebrow and looked straight at her. “Well. I guess that depends on how much stress relief you need, huh?” He looked over her blatantly, feeling his cock hardening in his jeans. Distantly, he was grateful that Cas worked until nine on most Saturdays at the library. He knew they didn’t have to worry about being interrupted as Jess stood up. 

“Well… I suppose you’ll just have to find out… Sir.” With one last flash of grin, she disappeared into the bedroom. Sam watched her go and carefully counted out three minutes before he stood up to follow. It was going to be a good afternoon.

Some time later, Sam lay on the bed with Jess in his arms. A red lingerie set lay on the floor, and a pair of soft leather straps were scattered across the bedspread. Jess dozed, her head on his shoulder, and Sam just stroked her hair, letting his mind wander.

The phone ringing jolted him out of his thoughts, but he was careful to ease Jess down so she didn’t wake up. With all the stress she’d been under for the last few weeks, she needed her sleep.

His cell said ‘Dean’, and he flicked it open. “Hello?” He was surprised that his brother would call so soon after just seeing him, and it was with no small amount of trepidation that he answered. What if something had happened?

“Hey man. Listen, I was just thinking about your offer of dinner… How’s Tuesday? Is that okay?” He sounded nervous, like he wasn’t used to inviting himself over. 

Sam felt a grin creep back across his face. Dean probably _wasn’t_ used to it, but he had made the effort, and it made Sam happy to hear. “Absolutely, Dean. Tuesday’s great. Jess and I are both done with class by three on Tuesdays, and I think Cas is done by four… How is six? That work for you?”

“Yeah, yeah, absolutely.” Dean’s voice was getting a little stronger the longer they talked, and Sam felt himself cheering up a little more. 

“Awesome, he said. “We’ll see you at six… I’ll text you the address… Actually, hey, do you need a lift? I mean, you always seem to be walking, wherever we are.” 

“I… I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” Dean said, his voice hesitant again. “I can walk. I pretty much do it anyway.” 

“Dean. Absolutely not an inconvenience, really. I invited you over, and I’m happy to get you.”

“Uh… Well, yeah. I guess, then, yeah. I could use one. I’m off work at five, if you’re okay with it.”

“Awesome. I’ll see you then, okay?”

“Yeah. Great. See you Tuesday.”

Sam tapped his phone off, and Jess snuggled sleepily against him. “Hey,” she murmured. “Who was that?” 

“Dean,” he said, smiling as he bent to kiss her head. “He’s going to be coming over Tuesday… I’ll stop tonight and get the fixin’s, okay? For now… Go ahead, and go to sleep.” He stroked her hair and settled back against the pillows. He had his mother, his lover, his _brother_ , his friends. Life was good.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter! Once again, I just want to thank everyone for being so patient, and for all the wonderful reviews and kudos from all of you! Your support is instrumental with getting this written! Here's Tuesday dinner... Enjoy!

Dean washed his hands in the sink and looked up as Mal came up behind him. 

“You’re in a hurry,” the older man said, reaching for the soap himself so he could scrub his hands before they left. “Big plans for tonight?” It was a Tuesday, but it was hard to say with young people like Dean.

Dean chuckled softly. “Yeah, uh, I need to get home and shower. Sam’s picking me up… He and Jess, that’s his girlfriend, invited me over for dinner. Cas is going to be there too.” He smiled a little more brightly at the thought of Castiel, and for the simple fact that his brother was going to have him over for dinner.

“That’s great, Dean!” Mal didn’t try to hide his approval. Dean suspected it was because Mal thought he needed to ‘get out more’; the man had certainly said it often enough over the last year or so. “You’re going to have a great time… You really need to get out more.”

Dean flushed. “So you’ve said,” he agreed mildly. “Anyway.” He dried his hands and stepped out of the way so Mal could wash up. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll get all the nitty-gritty out of me then.”

Mal clapped a hand on his shoulder, gripping firmly. “Sure will. Okay Dean, you be safe on your way home. I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good time with your brother.”

“I will, Mal… Night.” He grabbed his jacket from the breakroom hook and jogged out the door, heading for his little house. He hardly glanced around himself as he walked in fifteen minutes later, taking time only to drop his coat on the back of the couch and to fix his salt line before heading to the bathroom to shower. Butterflies had taken up pretty firm habitation in his stomach by the time he had cleaned up and headed to the bedroom. He had nearly half an hour before Sam was supposed to pick him up. In theory, that would be enough to get dressed, but in practice… Well. What the hell do you wear to a dinner to meet your long-lost-little brother’s girlfriend, while eating with said long-lost-little brother and also your sort-of boyfriend?

Glancing at his alarm clock, he realized he had less than fifteen minutes left. _Dude… how the hell have you been standing at the closet this long?_ Reaching in blindly, Dean came out with an old Zepplin tee, one that was faded but still in pretty good shape. He pulled a pair of black jeans out as well, and, deciding they didn’t clash too badly, hastily pulled both of them on. His nicest pair of boots followed, and then his jacket. He just grabbed the twelve pack of beer that he was bringing as a hostess gift (that was still a thing people _did_ , right? Dean had no idea), out of the fridge when he heard tires roll up his drive. 

He hurried to the door, opening it and stepping out quickly as he heard Sam’s door open and slam shut. He didn’t want to try and explain the books to his younger brother who, as a scholar, would certainly notice them. Instead, he just locked the door and grinned. Dean relaxed marginally as he looked over to see that Sam was wearing a band shirt himself; though the logo on it made him choke on a laugh.

“Hey, Sam,” he said, heading off the porch. “How’s it goin’?”

Sam gave a briefly puzzled look and then just opened his door again. “It’s great,” he said with a nod. “Really. Is that for us? You didn’t have to bring anything, Dean… And what are you laughing at?”

Dean flushed as he slid into the passenger seat. “Naw, it’s nothin’, man… Just… Fall Out Boy? Really?”

Sam chuckled a little as he started the car and backed out of the driveway. “Hey, hey… You don’t hear me talking about your Zepplin shirt, do you?” He shook his head and backed the car down the drive. 

Dean laughed and stowed the beer in the footwell. “Well, all right. Point there.” He shook his head. “Anyway. I brought beer because I thought it might be nice with dinner. You said Jess was makin’ enchiladas, right?”

“Yeah, she is… Thanks, Dean. That was really thoughtful.”

Dean felt himself blushing again. Damn it. But he felt his chest well with pride anyway as Sam praised his choice. At least he had done _something_ right.

The drive to the apartment was done in silence, Dean clenching and unclenching his hands repeatedly across his knees. Several times it seemed like Sam wanted to say something, but he never quite did. Dean didn’t mind; he was too tied up in knots about this. Sam wanted to introduce him to Jess, wanted to… Show him off, or something. He wasn’t quite sure what ‘this’ was, but it was enough to make him nervous.

They pulled up to the quaint little brownstone, and Dean took a deep breath to try and stabilize himself. It must have been audible, because suddenly Sam’s giant hand settled on his knee. “Hey, man… Just relax, okay? Jess is really excited to meet you; she’s been talking about it all weekend. You don’t have anything to worry about. And Cas and I will be there, too. We’re gonna have a good time.”

Dean flushed at how _obvious_ he must have been, but he nodded to Sam. “Alright, yeah. Cool. Nervous? Who’s nervous?” He grinned, and despite knowing it _had_ to be pretty shaky, he stepped out of the car. 

Sam followed him up the steps, and Dean waited patiently while the door was opened. A fantastic smell of vegetables and grilled meat wafted out from the kitchen, and Dean groaned in happiness. “Mm. God. That smells delicious.”

An amused laugh drifted down the hall, and a moment later, a slim blond sub appeared. “Well, thank you! You must be Dean! I’m Jess.” She was wearing tight, faded jeans and a loose tee shirt that fell almost to her knees; being that it was a Nirvana shirt, Dean guessed that it must have been Sam’s.

“Uh, yeah, I am. Hi.” He grinned and held out the beer to her, wishing he had something to do with his hands. Jess took it, but then immediately passed it over to Sam so she could wrap Dean in a hug. Her grip was firm, and Dean felt himself waver just for a moment, before tentatively returning it. He knew he was blushing bright red when she pulled away. “ _God… Dad was right, you’re such a_ sub.” He thought to himself. 

“Come on back,” Jess said, stepping back and leaning up to give Sam a quick kiss. “The food will be done in a little while… I just got a text from Cas, and he’s running a little late.” She opened the fridge as soon as they walked out of the hallway. “You guys want a beer? I’m just gonna stick these in here until dinner…”

She turned back, holding three of Dean’s beers in hand. Dean stood awkwardly leaning against the door, looking at their little quaint kitchen with a look of unease. Jess seemed to notice, because she pressed a beer into his hand, and then drew him over to the little scarred wooden table, urging him to sit. “You’re our guest, Dean,” she said firmly. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

Dean swallowed, and then twisted open the cap on his beer. “Right,” he said earnestly, nodding. “I know, I mean… Isn’t there anything I can do to help?”

Sam flopped down in a chair next to him, and gently nudged his ankle. “Dean,” he said. “Relax. This is a night for having fun, and getting to know one another. Tonight, you’re a guest. You already brought the beer, which is more than I would have asked for. Next time, you can help. This time, just relax.”

Dean took a swig of his beer to cover how uncomfortable the words made him feel. He didn’t know how to relax in someone else’s home, and obviously it showed. But as Jess bustled around the kitchen, mixing things, doing something to tortilla chips and maybe opening a can of salsa, Sam turned his attention fully on Dean. 

“So Dean… What made you want to be a mechanic?” 

Dean was startled from his guilty reverie as Sam spoke to him, and he shrugged. “I’ve always been good with my hands, and Jh… Dad always made me help with his car. A vintage Impala; we maintained it ourselves. And then my uncle Bobby, he’s uh, one of dad’s friends, not really an uncle, he had a salvage yard. I used to help him out sometimes, when Dad thought he couldn’t bring me with him on a case.”

Jess turned then, half listening. “A case?”

“Uh, yeah. My dad was a PI. We moved around a lot.” Dean took another swig of his beer. He really didn’t like talking about himself, because it went against too many of John’s rules. Don’t talk back, don’t draw attention to yourself, and don’t make yourself too recognizable. Even living in town where he did, Dean only knew a handful of people, and he liked it that way. 

“Oh, cool.” Jess grinned and then grabbed her own beer, coming to sit with Sam and Dean at the table while the veggies cooked. “So you learned to be a mechanic from your dad and your uncle, and you liked it enough to do it here?”

Dean shrugged a little, fought the urge to hunch over. He knew Jess wasn’t judging, not really, but man, it seemed that way. “Yeah, well, I could do it without a big degree, and cars don’t give a shit if you finished high school, so…” He took another swig, not quite able to meet anyone’s eyes. This was a terrible idea. If he didn’t think it would offend Sammy, he’d probably leave; as it was, he was trapped.

He was saved, in a manner of speaking, by the sound of the front door. “I am sorry I am late, everyone,” Cas said from the hallway. There was a distant sound of shoes being toed off, and a book bag hitting the floor. A moment later, Castiel appeared. 

As he always did, he took Dean’s breath away for a moment. The trenchcoat was gone, presumably hung in the front doorway with the shoes, and he wore only a paint splattered pair of jeans, a loose mostly-white shirt, and a pair of white cotton socks. Dean had never seen him so… unbuttoned, and it made his mouth go dry. He hid it in another guzzle of his beer, setting down the empty bottle with a touch more force than initially intended. Empty already; god… He looked like such a boozer. But damn, Cas looked good!

“Hello, Sam, Jess…” His eyes lingered just a moment longer on Dean. “Dean… It is so good to see you.” It was the first time they’d gotten together since That Night, and for just an instant, that kiss tingled on Dean’s lips again.

Dean looked away, blushing, and then forced himself to meet Cas’ gaze. He wasn’t a blushing virgin, damn it! No matter how weird it was, sitting here with his little brother, his brother’s girlfriend, and his sort-of boyfriend. What if Cas didn’t like what he saw here? Dean wasn’t exactly a family-time kind of guy. But Cas just wandered to the fridge and pulled out a beer, seeming not to notice Dean’s distress, and then came to sit next to him. His hand landed on Dean’s knee, and Dean forced himself to relax. “It’s good to see you, too,” he managed with a nod.

Jess stood up and quickly set our four plates. “Well it’s good you’re home, because I’m starving.” It didn’t take her long to set the table, darting around the three men. When Dean tried to stand up to help, Sam shook his head. 

“Dude, relax! You’re a _guest_ tonight, remember? There will be times you can help, but not right now. You want another beer?” He stood up and went to the fridge, pulling out a couple more beers to be passed out. He joined them at the table as Jess brought over the steaming pan of enchiladas, and then the bowl of corn chips, guac and salsa. 

“Here we go,” she said, sliding into the chair next to Sam. She served up Dean’s plate first, setting it in front of him. “Guests first,” she said. “Otherwise you might not get any… These two are _gluttons_.” She broke off with a giggle as Sam pinched her side. “Hey, hey, watch the ribs,” she ordered playfully. “Or you aren’t getting any!” She waggled her eyebrow suggestively and grinned.

Dean watched in amazement as Sam put his hands up. “Woah, woah,” he said, grinning. “I wouldn’t say that! Please, miss, can’t I have just one?”

With narrowed eyes, Jess finally nodded and served him exactly one enchilada. She glanced over at Cas, who immediately put his hands up. “I am a glutton,” he said without hesitation. “Who wouldn’t be, for the best enchiladas in California?”

Jess’ smile turned beatific, and she scooped two enchiladas onto his plate, as she’d done for Dean, before serving herself. “Chips and dip are every man for himself,” she announced without preamble. 

Dean took a bite of his enchilada and had to bite back a moan. Sharp, spicy, cheesy and gooey. “Delicious,” he said appreciatively, as soon as he’d swallowed.

Sam and Cas echoed similar sentiments, and for a moment, the only sounds were busy chewing and scrapes of knives on plates. Finally, Cas spoke up. “I am sorry,” he said again. “For being late. I got caught up in my painting II course… We had a live figure model today and I wanted to make the most of the time. Jess… Timothy says that he can have those brochures to you by Friday. He had a surprise assignment come up in his graphic design class that is taking up his computer time.”

Jess nodded. ‘That’s fine. We don’t have the student fair until next Tuesday anyway.”

Some confusion must have shown on Dean’s face, because Cas smiled at him. “One of my classmates is making pamphlets for Jess’ subs rights club,” he explained.

Jess jumped in, nodding. “Yeah, there’s still so many professors who treat subs like shit just for being subs… We’re going to pass out pamphlets at the next student activity fair.” She grinned. “We’ve already got thirty members.”

Dean blinked in surprise. "Wow. That's... Pretty cool. So, what, you guys are campaigning to... Stop discrimination?" It sounded really damn daunting, if you asked Dean. Sure, the status quo sucked sometimes, but it was generally tolerable.

Jess nodded. "Yeah. Well, as much as we can. We want to stop unfair grading practices, at least. And there's only three subs in my pre-med class. Three!" She shook her head. "And the professors give bullshit reasons for bad grades for us. It's really unbecoming a university like Stanford."

"Wow... It... Sounds like you have this all figured out," Dean said, just a little overwhelmed. He considered himself lucky that he’d come to work in a garage owned by a sub. He didn’t really want to delve much more deeply than that.

Seeing his discomfort, Sam spoke up. “So Dean was telling us about how he became a mechanic,” he said, and Cas’ eyes immediately turned to Dean. 

“Yes? I am interested as well… That is a difficult, physical job. I am not sure I could do it.”

Dean shrugged, not really comfortable that they had turned the attention right back on him. “Not much to tell, really,” he said, shaking his head. “I just grew up watching my dad do it, and eventually I helped him. Helped uncle Bobby, one of dad’s friends, in his salvage yard… It was just natural, when I came here, to find a job in a garage. Mal, my boss, helped me get my GED and I’m in line to go to trade school next year so I can be certified in a couple of different makes. That would let us be a referred repair shop, which would boost traffic, I think.”

He wasn’t comfortable talking about himself, but talking about the garage was different, safe. Less personal.

“That’s really cool,” Jess said from across the table. “It sounds like you’ve got Sam’s brains.”

Dean shook his head, flushing. “No, no. Nothing like Sam, here. I’m just good with my hands.”

This time it was Castiel that spoke up. “I beg to differ, Dean,” he said. He was watching Dean carefully, and Dean forced himself not to look away from that intense gaze. “You speak several languages, fluently. You have mostly taught yourself your trade, and you have done a wonderful job, if your boss encouraging you to go for further certifications is any indication.”

Cas stopped as he saw Dean’s face flush, which Dean was grateful for. It was instinctive for Dean to downplay himself, be as invisible as possible. There were times when he was younger when he had been a braggart, a show off, but all that had changed when he presented. He didn’t want to be the focus of anyone’s attention, anyway. 

“You speak several languages?” Sam was clearly curious. 

_Damn it, Cas…_ That wasn’t exactly a skill he advertised, and if it hadn’t been for that slip up once at the bar, where he’d answered some question of Cas’ in Latin, the dom wouldn’t even know. He’d brought it on himself, flirting too heavily with the ‘college boy’, showing off. And now his brother’s too-smart eyes were focused on him, and he nodded. 

“Uh, yeah. I mean, I know Latin best, but I speak some Greek and some Hebrew. We moved around, and I didn’t go to a traditional high school. I was bored a lot.” He said it a bit defensively, and Sam shook his head.

“No, no, that’s cool, man.” He grinned, and Dean relaxed minutely. It was true, he _had_ been bored a lot. 

“Sorry. I just… Don’t talk about that much.”

Cas’ hand was warm on his knee, just for a minute, and then they were all eating again. Desperate to get the focus off of himself, Dean looked up at Sam. “So. Pre-law, right? What made you pick that?”

Sam, now midway through the second enchilada that Jess had deigned to serve him after he’d finished the first, put down his fork and swallowed. “Well when I was a kid, I had a couple very close friends, but my best friend was named Eli. His parents split up when we were like… I dunno, twelve, maybe. Anyway, his dad was this awesome dude, and when his parents split, Eli and his sister Crystal wanted to go live with him. But their mom was the dom, and she won custody like, without even trying hardly. And with sole custody she was basically able to make their lives hell. Especially Crystal. She was a sub, and a lot like her dad…” He shook his head.

“Anyway. Crystal and Eli didn’t have an awful life, but the minute they turned eighteen, they went to live with their dad. Crystal, I think, never really got over it. Her mom made her basically the servant of the house; she had to do all the laundry, all the cooking, most of the cleaning. It totally wasn’t fair. And his dad petitioned for custody of at least Crystal, since he could see she was having the worst time, but he was denied.”

Dean frowned at the parallels between Crystal’s life and his own, though of course Sam didn’t really _know_ about them. Still, he could see how someone like Sam, passionate and smart, would want to pick up his friend’s torch and carry it forward.

“So, you, ah… Stepped up to the plate, huh? They must be really good friends.”

Sam shrugged. “I guess. It was more like… Talking to mom, and seeing everything that happened to them… Mom always said that wasn’t the way a responsible dom should act. So I want to help get people the rights they need. To make their lives their own.”

Dean’s throat felt a little tight. Sam, who didn’t even know him, wanted to make his life better. It was so weird that there were people _like_ that. “Well… That’s really cool.”

Sam grinned. “Thanks. I really like it. I like knowing I’m going to make a difference someday.” He turned to Jess, and nudged her knee. “Alright, your turn, as long as we’re sharing.” 

The blonde woman leaned over, resting against Sam’s broad shoulder while she talked. “Right, well. I’m pre-med, and my story’s a lot less exciting than Sam’s. I’ve just always really liked science, but I also really like people.” She laughed a little. “So lab work was out. Pre-med was the logical choice.”

Dean nodded. “You must be as smart as Sam,” he said. “And a kick-ass cook to boot.”

Jess grinned. “Well, thank you, Dean.” She said warmly. “I appreciate that. It’s more than I get from these two lugs, most of the time.”

Sam goosed her, and she yelped. “Hands off the merchandise!” She squirmed off to the side, not quite settled against him anymore. “Alright, Cas, your turn.”

The other man looked a little bit uncomfortable having the attention directed at him. “Well. Dean knows most of it already. But I fell in love with art when I was very young. Drawing and painting and sculpting. However, I love the history of it even more. I could sit and read for hours about how people chose a subject, why it was important to them… I intend to teach art myself one day.”

Dean smiled and leaned back in his chair. He wanted to know more about Cas, of course he did, but… It was nice, sitting with them and just chatting. “I’m sure you’ll be awesome,” he said, sipping his beer. “Just the couple times we’ve chatted at the bar, I’ve learned a lot about…Art… Stuff.”

Castiel laughed, and the rich sound warmed Dean to the core. “Well, thank you, Dean,” he said, reaching to squeeze Dean’s knee again. “I have enjoyed those conversations myself.”

Jess grinned at them from across the table, and leaned back against Sam again. “You guys are so cute,” she said, causing Dean to blush. Again. “What?” she said, sounding a little bit playfully affronted. “I can’t notice cute guys when I have them sitting in my house?”

Sam shook his head. “Nuh-uh,” he said. “This is the only cute guy you’re supposed to notice.”

Jess leaned up and kissed him, then punched his shoulder. “Yeah, well. Just for that crack, mister, you boys get to do the dishes. Chop chop!”

Dean went to stand, but Jess reached across the table as Cas and Sam stood without complaint. “Uh uh, Dean. Not this time. You’re a guest, remember? Next time you can help, if you want, I promise. This time, you get to relax. Come on in the living room. We can put the game on or something while we wait.”

Dean wanted to protest, but what would he say? Instead, he just shot one more glance at Cas and then stood up, following her. “Uh, the game sounds good.”

He settled down on the couch; it was a damn sight more comfortable than his. He found himself groaning softly in pleasure. “Wow. This is a really nice couch.”

Jess laughed, and patted his leg. “Thanks, Dean. Alright, the game it is. Football football.” She flicked on the TV, but glanced over at him. “You know… we really are glad you’re here. Sam told me all kinds of stories his mom… your mom… told him growing up about his ‘big brother Dee’. It always made him so sad, you know? But now you’re here, and he’s been… happier than he’s been since I met him. You’re family, Dean. I just thought you should know that.”

As the sounds of running water came from the kitchen, Dean was grateful that she just turned back to watch the television and didn’t seem to expect him to answer. He wasn’t sure that he could.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the massive delay between chapters, guys. I've had a lot of family drama and I've been traveling EVERY weekend the last month and a half. UGH. But I haven't forgotten about you. I want to thank everyone for all their encouraging comments, and for all the kudos I've gotten in the last couple weeks. You guys rock!
> 
> Here's a new chapter, dedicated to Lisa who has been feeling cruddy but has still been more than willing to help me with anything I need. You're awesome! :)
> 
> Enjoy, guys!

They watched the game in silence for about half an hour. Well, relative silence. The ‘Niners were apparently Jess’ team, and she hooted and hollered with the best of them as they went up against the Cowboys. Dean was content to just listen, because really, he was grateful to have some time without having to be the focus of attention.

Finally the sounds of splashing water and clinking cutlery stopped. This was a relief because Dean’s skin was still crawling with the _wrongness_ of not being in the kitchen helping. Even at Mal’s house, he’d been allowed to help!

But Sam and Cas appeared a moment later, wiping their hands on their jeans. Sam grinned immediately as he walked in. “Oh, the ‘Niners are on! I forgot!” He immediately joined them on the couch, pulling Jess in against him. “Who’s up?”

“We are,” Jess said, letting herself be moved without really looking away from the television.

Dean looked up at Cas; he didn’t seem nearly as excited. He perched on the arm of the couch, a small moue of distaste on his lips. Dean shifted sideways, to face him better. “Not a ‘Niners fan?” He asked, his voice pitched low to avoid distracting the other two.

Cas shook his head. ‘Truly, I have never been much of a fan of American football. I much prefer _football_... Soccer. My father is British and we never watched American football growing up. I suppose I never really acquired the taste.”

Dean smiled faintly, filing away the information about Castiel’s parentage for future use. “Yeah… Well, I don’t really have a team, either…” He glanced over at where Sam and Jess were comfortably ensconced on their end of the couch. “Would you… Like to take a walk, or something?”

Cas’ smile told him that he’d made the right choice, and the other man nodded. “That would be wonderful, Dean.” He stood up, and offered his sub his other hand; Dean took it with a blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Hey uh, Sammy, we’re gonna take a little walk, okay? Be back in a bit?”

Sam looked over his shoulder at them, and his grin was almost a leer. “Sounds good. Go for it, guys, we’ll see you in a bit.”

Dean’s blush darkened, but he followed Cas back to the hallway, where they put their coats and shoes on, and stepped out into the early evening air. The sun was setting, casting the world in bronze, and Dean found himself transfixed by the color washing over Cas’ shoulders and hair. So it was that he was surprised when Cas slipped their hands together.

“I am glad that you came over tonight, Dean,” he said, drawing Dean down the steps and then moving along the sidewalk. “I have been meaning to call you, but I did not want you to feel pressured. Still, I have missed you, missed our talks. I… I was intending on coming to the bar, tomorrow night, to see you.”

Dean looked up at him in surprise. “Really?” A smile spread across his lips. “I… That would mean a lot to me. I mean, I know you know who I am, and you don’t really _need_ to come out anymore, but I think I’d really like to get to spend some time with you.”

Castiel nodded, squeezing Dean’s hand as they strolled down the street. “I will make a point to come, then,” he said. He glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eye. “Have you… given any more thought to our conversation last week? About your limits?”

 _‘Wow… He really means it._ ’ A part of Dean had expected Cas to drop it, not to push it, when Dean said he wasn’t sure about contracts and stuff. But the dom seemed to be intent, and, really… Dean hadn’t thought about much else in the last few days _except_ what Cas had said about limits. 

“Well, I… haven’t looked yet. Specifically, I mean. At my book. I…” He looked up at Cas, realizing he was stuttering. “I want to do something. With you. But I don’t know that I’m ready for a long term contract.” _‘Woah. Did that just come out of my mouth?_ ’ 

Castiel didn’t appear phased by this shocking revelation, though, and instead just nodded. “That is fair,” he agreed. “I certainly would not want to pressure you into a contract too early.” He slid his hand up Dean’s arm, looking at him seriously. “Is this alright? Touching you this way?”

Dean nodded, perhaps a little _too_ eagerly. “Yeah, yeah, it’s fine.” He shook his head. “So, uhm…” He trailed off, noticing Castiel standing just a little too close. _‘Kiss me. He’s about to kiss me…’_ And then those warm, smooth lips were on his again. Not pressing for entry, just warm and dry and soft against Dean’s own. 

When they broke apart, Dean struggled for words. Cas spoke first, apparently less glazed than Dean from the affection. “You do not need to be in a rush,” he said, firmly. “We can take it at your pace. I want you to feel safe and comfortable.”

Dean flushed. Damn it, why was this so hard? Clearly Jess had managed to come up with something, and Mal, man, he’d never seen someone so happy! So why was it so hard to imagine letting Cas in, giving up control? _‘Because you’re not supposed to do that. Just because you’re a sub doesn’t mean you have to be a pansy! What would dad say? Stupid sub… You’re just asking for someone to come in and take advantage of you…_ ’ The words swamped his head in his father’s voice, and it was a struggle to focus on the grip of Cas’ hand on his arm.

“Dean? Dean, are you alright?”

The voice snapped him out of it; this wasn’t some random dom he’d picked up in a bar. This was _Cas_ , no, it was _Angel_ , the guy willing to go out with him without even knowing his _name_ , with no promise of sex. Just because he was interested!

He forced himself to take a deep breath. “Yeah, Angel,” he murmured softly, dropping his eyes to the ground. He flushed, when he realized it wasn’t _Cas_ that had come out of his mouth. Yeah, Cas had said he could use the other name, but _Cas_ had said _Dean_ so maybe that was what he preferred?

A warm hand slipped under his chin, and Dean allowed his gaze to be drawn up from the concrete. “Pretty,” he murmured, his hand not moving away until, apparently, he was convinced Dean would continue to meet his eyes. “Are you certain you are alright? Do we need to return to the house?”

Dean shook his head. “No, no, I’m good. Really.” He might have been feeling a little shaky, but he didn’t want to give up this private Angel time. Not yet. Angel watched him for another long moment, Dean assuming that it was in order to ascertain if he was lying or not. But finally the other man nodded. This time, instead of hand in hand, Angel’s hand wrapped around his waist, drawing him close as they resumed their walk.

It should have felt controlling, or claustrophobic, to have the arm around his waist. Instead, Dean allowed himself to be drawn against the other man. It didn’t feel at all like it should. It felt like… Like he was being buoyed up, kept safe. _God, Winchester… You’re such a sap… Fuck. When did he become Angel again?_ Still, he didn’t pull away, and he couldn’t quite change the way he was thinking, either. Somehow, someway, he went from ‘Cas’ to ‘Angel’, and Dean liked it. They meandered a few more blocks in comfortable silence, Dean just soaking up the comfort of being held. That wasn’t a common feeling for him, and this was… strange.

Angel glanced over at him, and spoke again. “Pretty…” He seemed to be gauging Dean’s reaction based on something, because he smiled when Dean looked up at him. “I have been thinking. Would you feel more comfortable with a short term contract? A single play, or encounter-by-encounter adjusted contract?” He didn’t stop their stroll, leaving Dean a moment to think.

Dean was grateful for that, and for the fact that Angel seemed to have picked up on the mood change. Pretty was so much easier, better at these conversations. After a few more steps, Dean shrugged. “I think.. it might be good,” he said finally. “I don’t have much experience with these things but I think I’d like to know that the contract wasn’t set in stone. I’d like to try it out.”

Angel made a small tutting sound. “No contract will be set in stone, Pretty,” he said, shaking his head. “Everything we agree to will be addressable, whenever we need it to be.” He gave Dean a little squeeze, but Dean just shook his head.

“I want a permanent contract,” Dean said stubbornly, though he knew that was stupid. He needed a flexible contract; he remembered _that_ much from sex ed. Flexible contracts protected everyone. But damn it, he _wasn’t_ a pussy!

“Pretty,” Angel said, just a little censure in his tone as he stopped walking. “There will be permanence with _flexibility_. I will not let you… Let _either_ of us lock ourselves into something which might be harmful later. That is my job, as your dom, is it not?”

Dean paused. Was that Angel’s job? “I can make my own decisions,” he said, furrowing his brow. Angel’s hand squeezed his arm, though it didn’t appear to be in anger. 

“Of course you can,” he said, this time confusion coloring his tone. “But it is important that I protect you. Just as you will, at times, protect me. It is… a give and take. Augh. This is not coming out right.” He shook his head, searching for the right words. “If my car were to start smoking from the engine block, would you let me drive it to the shop?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “No, of course not, dude. That would be a really bad idea. I mean, I know you don’t know a lot about cars, but that’s a really bad idea.” He kind of… could see where Angel was going though.

Angel smiled, and nodded. “Exactly. And I would listen to you, because your experience with cars is much greater than mine. And in this case, my experience with contracts is greater. For the time being, is it too much for me to ask that you trust I want to keep us both safe, even if that includes not going as far as we might both want, until we’ve thought it through?”

Dean felt himself softening, and he sighed. “No, I suppose not,” he said, shaking his head. And he knew Angel was right. He _didn’t_ have much experience with contracts. Hell, he didn’t have much experience with _dating_. Usually it was all ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’, so this ‘taking your time’ stuff was… really grating.

“Good.” Angel smiled and wrapped his arm around Dean again properly. “Of course I want your input. Every step of the way.” He shook his head. “I just do not want to jump into things without our both being fully informed, and neither one of us wants to be locked into a relationship where we cannot both be heard, and one which will grow with us.”

“Well… When you put it that way,’ Dean allowed, slumping a little. Man. It felt like he _really_ didn’t know what he was talking about, sometimes!

Angel just hugged him a little tighter, and Dean felt himself relax. “Now, Pretty, I know that we just ate… Normally I might suggest that we go for ice cream or something of that nature. Is there something you would like to do?”

Dean felt himself flush, and realized Angel was essentially asking him out on another date; right _now_. Put on the spot like that, Dean could hardly come up with an answer. He shrugged. “Uh… I don’t know,” he admitted. “I think… Ice cream sounds really good.” He curled a little closer against Angel’s chest, still not quite ready to meet his eyes. But then, Angel had suggested ice cream, so he must think it was a good idea, right?

“That sounds wonderful,” Angel agreed, and pressed another kiss to Dean’s forehead. Dean felt himself relax as Angel changed their direction just a little bit. “I know just the place.” He steered them down the street and they took a left. Dean hadn’t really been in this part of town much, so he stayed silent, just letting his eyes wander while they walked. 

Soon enough, they reached what appeared to be a little shopping district aimed at the students. No fewer than three coffee shops, a Chinese grocery, a few knick-knacky stores, and an ice cream place called Sweet With a Twist. “They have the best flavors,” Angel said as they headed toward the doors. Being that it was a Tuesday, the place was mostly empty. 

He held the door for Dean, who shot him a look but refrained from commenting. This time. The inside was… almost nauseatingly ‘pre-teen girl’, in Dean’s opinion. Neon pink, fluffy clouds, big things of fake candy on the wall. “Wow. Not what I was expecting.” He shook his head a little bit as the perky girl behind the counter, complete with a candy-striper’s hat done up in neon pink and white, looked up at them and grinned a _totally _fake grin.__

__“Hey, guys, welcome to Sweet with a Twist! We’ve got your sweet tooth covered… With a twist! What can I get you?”_ _

__Dean blinked. Yeah. _Way_ too perky. But Angel was grinning, like he came here all the time and the spiel was part of the experience. Well, maybe it was. _ _

__“Good evening,” Angel replied, and guided Dean toward the counter. “This is his first time here… Perhaps you would explain how this works?”_ _

__Dean shot him a mock glare. Great. There were hoops to jump through for _ice cream_ , really? But Perky Girl was turning that grin at him and heading toward the end of the counter._ _

__“Right, well, the magic starts over here,” she said, gesturing to the frozen ice cream tubs in front of her. “We’ve got fifteen flavors to choose from. You get to pick two flavors, and if you want a taste test of anything, we can do that.” She moved a little closer to the register and motioned again. “Here we’ve got toppings. Everything from your usual sprinkles and chunks of cookie, to bits of pie and whole fruit. You can pick three. Then we put it all in the mixer over here…” She pointed to a stick blender sitting on the opposite counter. “Mix it up with a little bit of milk for smoothness, and then we top it off with whipped cream, caramel or chocolate sauce, and of course a bright red cherry!”_ _

__She finished next to the register, and Dean knew his eyes were wide, both from the whole… rigamarole of ordering a fucking _milkshake_ , and from the fact that the girl was so ridiculously upbeat about selling undergrads insanely complicated ice cream drinks. Still… Pie was an option, so there was that._ _

__“What kind of pie are we talking here?” He asked, curious._ _

__She grinned… Did she ever _stop_? Seriously. It was inane. “We have apple and blueberry today.”_ _

__Angel let go of his waist, and dropped his hand down to Dean’s wrist, tugging him toward the ice cream part of the counter. Dean followed without complaint, looking over the flavors. Some were pretty straight forward; French vanilla, coffee, hell, even pistachio. But Dean’s eyes were drawn to the wackier flavors. Wasabi pineapple? Sweet chili and banana? Who the hell came up with these? “Uh… I’ll just have vanilla and, uh, the cinnamon twist?” He glanced at Angel, who was apparently still deep in thought._ _

__He looked up a moment later. “I believe I will have the Aztec coca bean, and… Chocolate fudge marshmallow swirl.” He grinned at Dean over his shoulder. “I have an affinity for chocolate.”_ _

__“I can see that,” Dean said dryly, chuckling a little bit. “I’ll remember that.”_ _

__They followed the girl, whose name apparently was _‘really? No. That cannot even be right…’_ Candy, to the toppings station. “Alright, for the vanilla cinnamon twist?” Dean glanced at the list of options. “Yeah, I’ll take the apple pie, and, uh…” He looked at the topping options again. “The caramel pieces? I don’t need a third one… Actually, can I get double pie?” _ _

__“Okay, great,” she said, scooping the caramel pieces in first. “Yeah, sure thing… And for you, chocolate?”_ _

__Angel glanced briefly over the toppings. “I’ll have the brownie, the chocolate chips, and the mint chips, please.”_ _

__Dean felt his stomach contract at the idea of that much chocolate all at once, but clearly Angel enjoyed it, by the way he eyed the tall cup. He squeezed the other man’s hand emboldened by the feeling of camaraderie from being just… alone. Together. The smile the action gained him warmed him to the core._ _

__Candy mixed their shakes on the blenders with a whirr, and came back to their side of the counter to add a not-insignificant swirl of whipped cream to each cup. “Right… Fudge or caramel on the vanilla?”_ _

__“Caramel,” Dean said, eyeing the concoction with a little more excitement as she squirted the heavy sauce over the whipped cream. “Wow. This place sure knows how to do a milkshake.”_ _

__Candy favored him with that beaming grin again, but turned to Angel. “And for you?”_ _

__“The fudge,” he said without hesitation. She had already been reaching for the other container as she asked what was clearly just a formality, and squirted just as much fudge on top of his shake as she had caramel on Dean’s. Two cherries finished them up and she headed to the register._ _

__“Alright. Your total comes to ten eighty-seven,” she said, setting the cups on two napkins. Angel had whipped out his wallet while she was talking, and put a hand on Dean’s arm to forestall him from doing the same._ _

__“I’ll get this,” he said, glancing over. “I invited you, it’s only fair.”_ _

__Dean’s stung pride was soothed a little, and he nodded. “Alright. That sounds okay. But I’m paying next time.”_ _

__“As you wish,” Angel said, and somehow managed _not_ to make it sound patronising. He paid and they each took their monster shakes, complete with a really long spoon and stack of napkins. “Would you like to eat outside?”_ _

__Dean glanced out; it wasn’t that cold, so he figured why not, and nodded. “Sure, that sounds good.” They headed out and found a little two seat table, sitting across from one another. Angel was watching him expectantly, and Dean frowned a little. “Dude, what?”_ _

__“Nothing!” Angel held his hands up. “I just want to see you taste it, that’s all.” He smiled as he ‘stretched’, and rubbed his foot along Dean’s. “It is really, really good ice cream.”_ _

__Dean shivered more from the contact than from the chill of the food in his hand, and he flushed bright red. “Right. Uh. Okay.” Suddenly to be made the focus of Angel’s attention was a little nerve wracking, though he really couldn’t say why. Maybe it was the intent in his gaze? But he took the spoon and lifted a bit, a chunk of pie covered in gooey caramel, smooth whipped cream and dripping ice cream. The first bite was enough to draw a moan; he’d always been appreciative of food. “God… Wow.” He said through the mouthful. “You’re right.” He swallowed. “This is awesome.”_ _

__Angel smiled broadly and finally reached to take a bite of his own. He wasn’t nearly as vocal in his enjoyment as Dean was, but Dean could see he was relishing the chocolate confection like Dean was relishing his pie. Pie! In a milk shake! Who knew?_ _

__“So… You never mentioned that you paint,” Dean said, motioning vaguely at Angel’s paint spattered clothes. “I knew about the art thing, but the painting, that’s new.”_ _

__Angel smiled. “Yes, I picked it up in elementary school. A ‘civilized hobby’, my father would say. I’ve taken classes in just about every kind of art, but especially painting. I am terrible with watercolor, but marginally passable with oils or acrylics. By the time I went to college, well. I was in love with all aspects of art.” He shrugged a little bit. “Thus, my major.” At Dean’s clearly confused look, he shrugged. “I am an art history major, with an education concentration, with a minor in painting, which is my favorite. I hope to one day be able to teach… Some kind of an art class. I’m not sure the life of a scholar is for me. I want to spread my love of art to anyone I can.”_ _

__Dean grinned around a mouthful of pie, but swallowed this time before he spoke again. “That’s really awesome. I’d love to see them sometime. Your paintings, I mean. Do you paint people? Or.. Like… What?”_ _

__“I do portraits, yes… Hence the life model in my class today. But I also do still life, and some abstracts. My favorites are people; it’s… An amazing feeling, to try and transform what I see in front of me into something that can show the world how you are really feeling.” He gazed at Dean for a moment and smiled. “I would love to paint you one day, Pretty,” he said. “There are so many layers to you… I would love to show them to the world.”_ _

__Dean flushed darkly. “That… Uh…” He really wasn’t sure what to say to that, but Angel’s hand covered his own after just a moment._ _

__“One day,” the other man assured. “When you’re ready.”_ _

__They ate in silence for a little while then, the only commentary being Dean’s noises of appreciation. After a little while, though, Dean noticed Angel shifting in his seat. “Dude, are you alright?”_ _

__It was Angel’s turn to blush, which was an endearing sight Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever seen. “Uh, yes, Pretty, I’m fine,” he said. “It’s just… You have a most alluring way of eating.”_ _

__It took a moment for Dean to process that, and then his grin returned, accompanied by a blush of his own. “You mean you think I’m hot.” He took another bite, this time purposely accentuating his licking of the spoon, giving a much more exaggerated groan of pleasure. _‘I forgot how fun it is to flirt,’_ he thought, watching as Angel squirmed again in his seat. _ _

__“I do not believe I have ever made a secret of the fact that I find you very attractive, Pretty,” Angel said in a strangled voice, shaking his head as he readjusted himself. Again._ _

__Luckily for Angel, they were each almost done with their shakes, and Dean stood up when he’d finished. “Can I take your cup?” He asked, taking pity on Angel and giving him a minute to collect himself. The dom nodded mutely, and Dean chuckled as he took the cups over to the garbage can by the door. When he returned, Angel looked much more collected, something which sort of disappointed Dean a little._ _

__“Ready to go?”_ _

__Angel nodded and stood up. “I think I will have to be more cautious about my attire when I take you out,” he said, stepping over to Dean and wrapping an arm around his waist again. “You are… Most alluring, and it would not do to embarrass myself in public too much,” he murmured, this time speaking directly in Dean’s ear._ _

__Dean shivered a little bit. “Y-yeah… That wouldn’t be good.” It was definitely heady, knowing he’d turned the otherwise cool-and-collected Angel into a mess just by eating a milkshake. He wasn’t used to guys being attracted to him and not… pushing for more. _‘Just one more reason Angel is… Angel,”_ he thought to himself as he leaned against the dom’s reassuring bulk beside him. He might be a little taller, but that didn’t change the fact that Angel was solid and warm beside him._ _

__“Ready to head back?” Angel asked, starting to draw them down the street again._ _

__Glancing at the setting sun, almost completely down now, Dean sighed and nodded. “Yeah… I’ve gotta get home soon. Tuesdays are usually my rest days, since I work double shifts tomorrow and Thursday.”_ _

__Angel shook his head. “Well I would not want to keep you from your sleep,” he said, though he didn’t change the pace from their relaxed, meandering one. “I will come to see you at the bar tomorrow, if that is still amenable to you?”_ _

__Dean smiled. “I’d really like that,” he agreed with a nod._ _

__Despite their ambling pace, it didn’t take long to reach the apartment again. They paused on the doorstep for just a moment, and Angel leaned in for a brief, chaste, kiss. Dean was starting to get tired of brief and chaste, but it seemed like he didn’t have a choice for the moment, since they were already back at Sam’s and he _was not_ going to make out with his boyfriend at his little brother’s house. Eew. _ _

__They stepped inside to hear the game still playing. Dean remained quiet, still not wanting to be an interruption, but Angel had no such compunctions. “We are back,” he said as he walked through to the living room. “Dean would like to go home. Would you like to take him, or I can?”_ _

__Sam looked up from the couch to the doorway where Dean and Angel stood. Dean was slightly behind Angel, though he refused to say he was _hiding_. He was just making himself unobtrusive. “Whatever you want, Dean,” Sam said without moving. “I’m happy to do it, dude, just say the word.”_ _

__Dean, for his part, was still reeling a little from being ‘Dean’ again, since he’d been ‘Pretty’ for the last hour. “I, uh… I don’t want to be a bother. I mean, I can walk. It’s really not that far…” The frown on Angel’s face was enough to make him realize that was the wrong answer._ _

__“I will take you, then, Dean,” he said. He stepped back away toward the door, and Dean waved a little anemically._ _

__“Alright, then, uh… G’night, guys. Thanks for dinner…” He hated this part; it was so hard, trying to be polite to people he really wasn’t totally comfortable with._ _

__But Jess and Sam unfolded themselves from the couch, and padded over quickly. Sam gave him a big hug, and then Jess did too. “Goodnight, Dean… It was great to meet you,” Jess said with that same bright smile she’d had earlier. “Have a good night, and don’t be a stranger, yeah?”_ _

__Dean nodded and Sam spoke up. “Really, dude. Any time you wanna come over. Mi casa es su casa.”  
Dean swallowed. It was so weird, to have everyone be so welcoming. “Uh, right.” He smiled, and reached up to brush a hand through his hair. “I’ll remember that. Thanks again for having me.” Then he turned and followed Angel out the door as the other two returned to the game._ _

__The cool night air was refreshing once again as he headed to the passenger side, sliding in with a deep exhale. “Wow.” Dean shifted on the seat. “Who knew how stressful dinner could be?”_ _

__Angel’s hand landed on his knee a moment before the car started. “You did marvellously. I believe you will truly like Jess as you get to know her. She is very intelligent, and very funny. A wonderful person to be around.”_ _

__Dean nodded. “Yeah, I can see that.” He lapsed into silence again as they drove, some random talk show on the radio for background noise. They pulled up in front of Dean’s little house, and Dean turned to slide out of the car. “Next Thursday,” he said, in a rush. “I’d really like to talk contracts. But I think I need some time to do some research first. So, uh, if I got off the bar Thursday night, do you think we could… Go out or something?”_ _

__Angel hadn’t even had a chance to get properly out of his seat, but he nodded seriously. Dean was grateful he seemed to see how agonizing this was for him. “That sounds perfect, Pretty. In the mean time, text me any questions you have. And… I would very much like to call you. Perhaps Thursday, between your shifts? Just… To talk for a little while.”_ _

__“I’d like that,” Dean surprised himself by saying. “That would… That would be really nice.” And then he surprised himself even more by leaning across the seat for a quick peck of his own, before climbing out of the car completely and heading for the house. Yeah. He glanced back at Angel, a feeling of satisfaction running through his chest. Life was good._ _


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all... Wow. It's been a LONG time since I posted. I'm so, SO sorry. :( Real life, and this chapter fought TOOTH AND NAIL to get out. That's also why it's just a little shorter than usual.
> 
> I want to give a shout out to Lisa for all her help in figuring out where I want this chapter to go, and giving me the backbone I needed to flesh this out. You're the best!
> 
> Fair warning: this chapter has a flashback with some dub/non-consensual stuff with Dean as a teenager (16) with other teens. It's pretty much contained in the italics, so if you think that'll be triggering for you, or you just plain don't wanna read it, skip. But it's pretty critical to Dean's character, so it's there if you can stomach it.
> 
> I hopefully won't leave you hanging another month before another chapter... Thank you all for being so patient! You're the best!
> 
> Dare

Despite his original plans to sleep, Dean found himself drawn to his bookshelf after he’d changed clothes. Cas was right, he needed to get himself educated before he made any split second decisions. Hell, hadn’t he just been saying that he needed to take a break from doms? _Well. Take a break from_ assholes _is more like it,”_ he thought to himself. And, if he had to admit it, he knew that was the truth. He just really couldn’t trust his own judgement as to who was a good dom, and who was an asshole.

He found his copy of _Sub’s Guide to Dynamics_ buried against a corner of the bookshelf. It was battered and torn from being shoved in the bottom of duffels, and kicked across car seats. John hadn’t approved of the book being around, but Dean had always been crafty. He hadn’t really read it much, but… There had always been something comforting about having the book around. Confirmation that he wasn’t alone in the world, maybe.

The spine had been cracked a long time ago, and Dean settled down on the couch once again. He tucked his feet under him and let the book fall open.

_“The greatest gift a sub can give, is themselves. Whatever the variations in their personal dynamic, a sub is blessed with the ability to trust in the protection of their dom. They trust in the decisions made for them, and abide without complaint.”_

Dean frowned. That didn’t sound like Mal’s relationship with Sue, but then, Mal _had_ said for him to ‘read this book’. So there _had_ to be something to it, right?

_”A sub is a balm for the soul of a dom, a safe place to spend their tense evenings and come to regain control of a stressful day, to rejuvenate their lives. So, too, is a dom a safe place for a sub. A place where no decisions need to be made, no thoughts, no distress. Punishment from your dom will clear you of guilt for any missteps you may have made through the day. As a sub, you will be able to, once again, breathe free and clear.”_

Dean put the book down with a thunk on the table. “What is this shit?” He knew he was asking no one, but… Was that really what Cas wanted? It seemed that way. It seemed like he was just destined to be a shit sub. Because these things? They were just what John always said. He sat back against the couch and stared forward. No way. Punishment was one thing. Sort of. John had always been free with his hand or his belt whenever he thought Dean was stepping out of line. But… When he was talking to Cas, he made it sound like they were going to be equals.

Morbid curiosity drew his hand to the book again. Another page at random, even though he knew he ought to be looking specifically for the section on contracts.

 _”It is the responsibility of the sub to do as his or her dom desires. Success of a scene relies heavily on the sub’s reading of his or her dom’s preferences and actions. If the sub does not respond appropriately, the dom is unable to maintain control of the scene, thus leading to an unsatisfactory session for both parties. In order for both the dom and the sub’s needs to be met, the sub_ must _give in to his or her dom,and trust that all will be well.”_

Dean frowned. Fuck. Well that explained a fucking lot, didn’t it? The reason none of his relationships had ever worked out, the reason his hookups had always been so godawful. How are you supposed to trust a dom when your father tells you you’re not supposed to trust anyone?

He snapped the book closed, rubbing his temples as he leaned back against the couch, the memories flooding him unbidden.

_**Crack! Crack!** Each blow was a lick of fire across his ass, and Dean clenched his hands in the coverlet. **This** was not what he’d imagined when Kale invited him over for a birthday party in his honor. They’d said they would make it good, that he didn’t have anything to worry about. They were full of **shit**. John was right. Subs were weak, because if he was strong, like he used to think, he wouldn’t still be bent across the fucking bed while his best friends whooped his ass._

_The crack of the belt was relentless; Dean had lost count of the number of blows in his focus just to endure._ Don’t cry. Winchesters don’t cry. Even if they are pansy ass subs. **Don’t** cry.

_Fingers slid down his crack, and Dean startled. “Hey there little one,” came Kale’s voice. Sweet and slightly mocking, it was as relentless as the belt, as the probing fingers that had found his hole and began to press in, slick and cold and burning. Different than the belt, but just as unwanted, just as intrusive. “You’re so fuckin’ tight, Freshie… It’s gonna feel so good when I slide in here. Right where I belong.”_

_Dean swallowed back a surge of nausea. They’d said they would make it good. His first time. Wasn’t that supposed to be magical?_ Stupid fuckin’ childish bullshit. _As it usually did, John’s voice sounded at the most inopportune times. But he was right. No one believed in fairy tale endings anymore. And there was only so far his mind could drift away from his body, and what his… Well. They weren’t friends, really, not any more. What his **doms** were doing to him, before one of them noticed and brought him back._

_A sharp crack against his ass had him gasping like a fish. “You know you want it.” That was G. Once, sure, Dean might have thought he was cute. But the attraction was fading. “Maybe we should beat your ass some more first, get it nice and red for us?” A rough hand gripped his sore and bruised cheek, squeezing roughly and massaging in a parody of comfort. Dean gave out a little cry, fighting to stay still. He didn’t **want** anything else, but he didn’t think he could take any more of that belt across his ass, either._

_“Please,” he gasped out, arching a little bit as the fingers inside him hit something that made pleasure spark across his body._ No! Fuck. Nonono. You do **not** like this, Winchester… _But when they kept pressing there, laughing as he squirmed, he just buried his face in the bedspread and waited for it to be over. It had to be over soon. Dad was right. You can’t trust anyone._

Dean surged up from the couch, nausea roiling in his gut. Fuck. He hadn’t thought about the basketball boys in _years_. He made it to the bathroom before he lost his dinner. Why the hell couldn’t ghosts of the past _stay there?_ There was no body to salt and burn, to eliminate this problem. He rinsed his mouth out and spat into the sink, hands shaking with the adrenaline the memory had brought.

Cas couldn’t… Didn’t… What if Cas expected that? It’s easy to have pretty words when you’re just _talking_. Hell, Kale and the gang had known _just_ what to say to make Dean give in, agree to it. And Cas was a hell of a lot more experienced than that.

Dean splashed cold water on his face, shaking his head. He couldn’t trust Cas. For that matter, trusting Sam was really out, too. There was a reason he lived on the outskirts of town, had never gone looking for a place closer to work. It was safer, here, no doubt. Leaning against the counter, Dean stared at his reflection in the mirror. He was still just as attractive as everyone kept telling him, but for a sub, that was a dangerous, _dangerous_ state of affairs.People still coveted him, just like they had in school. But unlike in school, he didn’t have to ally himself with the enemy, didn’t _have_ to give himself up to a few to be safe from the rest.

“Right.” His voice sounded shaky, even to him. He couldn’t have a contract with Cas. Not… Not when he knew he couldn’t fulfill it. He couldn’t trust anyone that much, with that much of himself. Cas deserved better. Soulmates or not, it wasn’t fair to ask him to be with someone that could never… Do _that_. Angel and Pretty could mess around maybe, do something totally safe. No restraints, no toys. That would be okay. But the possibility of Dean and Cas and Something Permanent? Not happening.

The decision made him relax, even if it brought a new kind of sick twist to his gut, and he pushed away from the counter to head to his bedroom. Sleep was a long time coming that night.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sam’s finger hovered over the ‘call’ button. He’d told Dean about mom, but… It _really_ wasn’t fair to just spring him on her. Really. So now that Dean knew she was alive, he wanted to let Mary know what she was walking into. He wrapped his arm a little more tightly around Jess, where she dozed against his shoulder. If it weren’t for her firm suggestion, he probably wouldn’t be making this call right now.

Even if he _really_ didn’t want to know what Mary would say when she found out he’d been hiding her eldest’s existence for nearly three weeks. Finally, even though it was nearly eleven in Wyoming, he pressed the button. A predictable two rings, and then his mother’s voice sounded over the line.

“Sam? Honey? What’s wrong?”

He winced at the concern in her tone; it wasn’t like she didn’t have reason to think something was wrong. Why else would he call at eleven on a Tuesday?

“Uh, nothing mom. Hi. Sorry to call so late.” He smiled, as though she could see it across the phone. “It’s nothing bad. Actually, it’s something really good.” He took a deep breath, fortifying himself. “Mom, I found Dean.”

The line on the other end went silent; so silent that Sam thought perhaps the call had dropped, or she’d hung up on him. “Mom?”

“Samuel Henry Campbell, so help me God, if you are pulling my leg, I’m going to whoop your ass when I get to California, and you know I will.” Mary’s voice was hard, but had an underlying shake that made Sam wince. His mother _never_ doubted herself.

“I wouldn’t joke about this, mom. You know that. I was… I met him at the auto shop, when I took the car in to get my brakes done.” He braced himself, because his mother was nothing if not observant. A beat, then another, and then…

“Three weeks? Samuel Campbell, you have known about your brother for _three weeks_ and you have not called me before now? If you weren’t in California, young man, you would be in for a serious session in the gym.”

Sam swallowed, and really was glad his mother _was_ going to have a few days to cool off before she saw him. Even at nearly a foot shorter than he was, Mary Campbell was a force to be reckoned with. “Mom! Mom, hear me out, okay? Yes, I know it’s Dean. I checked. I mean, as much as I could. But no reaction to holy water, or the silver at dinner. He crossed my salt lines just fine. I… I think he’s the genuine article. He’s a great guy; he’s so smart mom. He diagnosed my car in like twenty minutes. We had him over for dinner yesterday… It turns out, he speaks four languages. He got into mechanics because… I guess John kinda had him helping out when he was a kid.” He shook his head, trying to rein in his excitement, as much to let Jess sleep as to keep himself from spilling Dean’s story.

Mary listened in silence as Sam babbled, and when he took a breath, she finally spoke. “None of this explains why you didn’t tell me about him _three weeks ago,_ Sam,” she said, though she seemed slightly mollified that he would have tried all those different things out. He fought down an indignant feeling; he wasn’t a total idiot.

“Because, mom… He’s a sub.” He took a deep breath. “And he’s… Had a really rough life. Honestly? I wasn’t sure how telling him about you would go over. He doesn’t exactly have good role models.”

Mary made a small, sad sound, and Sam felt his stomach twist, as it had every time he heard that noise. Whenever Mary thought about her poor, lost Dean. Mary had been living this loss every day for the last two and a half decades, and now she had to live a different kind of loss; the kind where she imagined all the things she could have protected Dean from, if she’d been there. Sam could hear it, and as he’d wanted to all those years ago, he wished he could make it better. Now, though, he couldn’t climb into her lap, as he’d done when he was small. So he settled for the next best thing.

“He wants to meet you, mom. His biggest worry was about if you’d _like him_... I told him that you probably wouldn’t want to leave once you got your hands on him.”

Mary’s distress faded into a sad chuckle, and she took a deep breath. “You’re right. I probably won’t. After all this time, he’s still alive.” There was a rustling on the other end of the phone and then Mary spoke again. “I look forward to coming up,” she said. “And… I think I’ll head up a day early, if that’s alright with you? I need to… See. Before I meet Dean. Not that I don’t trust you, it’s just…”

“You have to see with your own eyes. I get it mom, I do. Yeah, I’m not offended. I’ll see you Thursday night, after you make sure?”

“Yeah, baby boy, that sounds good. Night Sammy, I love you.”

Sam smiled at the appellation; it was strange that Dean had picked the same one his mother used. Maybe part of him remembered hearing it, when he was small? “Night, mom. Love you, too.”

It was with a much lighter heart that he hung up his phone, and turned his attention to the young woman slumbering in his arms. He kissed Jess’ soft blond hair, and then shifted a little. “C’mon, Jess,” he whispered. “Let’s go to bed, babe.” A tightness in him was eased. Mom was coming. Everything would be better, then.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dean woke the next morning to a text on his phone from Mal. “Power’s out. Don’t come in. Enjoy your day off… Go on a date, or something.”

Dean looked at his phone, perplexed, before sending back a quick message. ‘Uh… Thanks. Everything okay?”

Mal’s response didn’t take long. “Yeah, just a random transformer thing or something but they expect no power until five or so. Have a good day off, Dean.”

Well. Unexpected days off didn’t happen to Dean Winchester. So he headed out into the kitchen, aiming for his coffee pot. When he passed through the living room though, his eyes fell on the book on the table, and the sick feeling from the night before surged into his stomach again.

Cas. Fuck. What the fuck was he going to do about Cas? Part of him, arguably a pretty big one, said ” _You’ve got his name, dumbass. He’s **supposed** to be your perfect match. Just talk to him!_ ”

But the other part of him, the part raised on the run by John Winchester, the part laughed at in school, shoved into lockers and felt up, the one whose sixteenth (legal, some treacherous part of him whispered) birthday had been spent being betrayed by his best friends… That part of him had one, and only one, mantra. ” _Trust no one_.”

Still… He’d been daydreaming about Cas, one way or another, for years. It was only fair to give him at least a chance to talk it out. Maybe the contract he was thinking of wouldn’t be so intense for Dean. Maybe… Maybe he really _was_ different, and did want an equal.

That last seemed too good to be true, but Dean realized with a shock that he’d talked himself into at least chatting with Cas.

Before he had a chance to talk himself out of it again, he reached for his phone and sent a text.

“Power’s out at work; I have the day off. Want to meet for coffee?”

Less than five minutes later he received the response. “Ten o’clock at Rosie’s?”

Dean swallowed, but at least he had a few hours to get himself ready.

“Sounds great. See you then.”

He headed to the bathroom to shower, and then to the bedroom closet to pick what he was going to wear. It was hard, but he tried not to feel too much like he was girding himself for battle as he pulled out his tight black jeans, one of his newer Metallica tees, and pulled on his heavy work boots and leather jacket. God, he hoped he was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter... Mary!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SOOO sorry for the delay, guys. I've had some pretty rough personal stuff happening lately, and it's been hard to write. Thanks so much for all the positive reviews, I read them all and they make me all happy and fluffy inside. Special thanks to Lisa for helping me iron out the kinks and stay motivated! Enjoy, guys!

The walk to the diner was quiet, almost meditative, and a glance in the window when he got there revealed that the place was almost empty. Of course, it wasn’t yet lunchtime, and it was a Wednesday, so that made sense. Dean walked into Rosie’s with no small amount of trepidation; Cas was already at a table and waiting for him. Dean didn’t think he’d ever been so conflicted. Part of him was elated to see the other man, because there was just something about his soulmate that made him feel safe and strong, like he could do _anything_. But then he remembered that Cas was a dom, supposedly _his_ dom, and his blood ran cold. What was he supposed to do? He trembled as he sat down across from Cas, forcing a smile to his lips. He could be Pretty, he _could_. “Hey, Cas,” he said as he slid into the booth.

“Good morning, Dean.” Castiel’s smile was broad and warm, but it soon faded to something… confused. “I was most gratified to receive your message this morning… But it appears that you are troubled. Is there something wrong?”

Wow. Normally, Dean would appreciate how perceptive Cas seemed to be, but today… Today it was just hard. He almost wished that the diner were more crowded, to give a need for silence and carefully inoffensive words. But here,with the diner so empty, the situation couldn’t be more perfect for a confrontation. And they were in public, which would protect him from any outbursts. Dean swallowed, shaking his head. How… What he had felt last night couldn’t really be put into words; not with John’s voice in his head. _”No one cares, boy. They’re out for their own satisfaction. Trust no one, because none of them_ care.”

But Cas was different, wasn’t he? Angel was. Angel knew just what to say, how to say it. But Angel belonged to Pretty, and Dean didn’t feel much like Pretty right then.

“I’m not… I think…” Dean swallowed. Damn. He hated when this happened. Usually he was good with words, but when he got flustered like this, when he had to _try_ to be articulate, Dean couldn’t really do it. Cas’ concerned gaze chipped away at him, and he shook his head. “Damn it,” he growled. “I’m not who you think I am!” He surprised himself when that burst out, and once it did, he kept going. “I’m not going to be a sweet little sub who sits at home and does all the laundry and cooks for you. And I’m not weak! I’m just as able and strong as you are! I’m not going to let you beat me, and I’m not going to do any scenes where I can get hurt. I have a job now and I can’t take time off just because I can’t walk.”

As Dean started his rant, Cas grew more confused; by the end of it, the confusion had faded to concern. “Dean,” he said, his voice hesitant. “I would never want that for you. I… Thought we had discussed this? I would never want to take your employment from you; especially not some that brings you such joy and fulfillment. If you were unhappy in your place of employment I might encourage you to seek otherwise, but…” His frown deepened and he seemed to be considering Dean’s words. “I think I have not been clear, and for that I offer you my sincerest apologies. Dean, I am _not_ a sadist. I do not even own a flogger.”

Dean couldn’t help the words that were spilling out of him; now that this was an open discussion, it was like the valve had been twisted clean off and only an empty reservoir would stop him. “There are other ways of causing pain! Everyone owns a belt, and I bet you have a strap or something.” Nausea twisted in his stomach, exacerbated by the stale-coffee and old-grease smells of the diner, so reminiscent of growing up with John. Belts, especially, his father had been familiar with. Moreso after Dean got his mark, and he suddenly had been demoted from son to sub, useful to useless, strong, to weak. The nausea surged again. “Hell, hairbrushes, rope… Electrical cords. You name it.”

“Dean!” Cas’ voice cut through his rambling, panic driven (yes, Dean could admit that to himself) rant. It was strange, but some traitorous part of him was _glad_ to hear the annoyance in Cas’ voice. See? He was like everyone else. He wasn’t happy, wasn’t perfect all the time. Not that Dean had expected that, exactly, but it had begun to feel a little… A little like Cas was treating him like he was spun glass. Like he couldn’t handle his emotions. The buzz of the lights seemed louder in Dean’s sudden silence, but it was reassuring to know Cas trusted him with his darker self. _”Until he takes that anger out on you…_ ” that nagging little voice of John WInchester in his head snarked. Dean quashed it firmly.

“Dean,” Cas said again, more quietly, waiting until Dean was clearly paying attention before he decided to continue. “My parents were a love match; they were not mates. My father loved my mother, and could deny her nothing.. Unfortunately, my father was not a masochist.” He trailed off into meaningful silence for a moment, before continuing, meeting Dean’s eyes squarely. “I… Have my own reservations about pain, Dean. If pain is not what you want, I will never knowingly cause it.”

Dean felt his anger dissipate. A little. “So, what, you’re scared to be rough because you saw your dad get hurt? I mean… Yeah, that’s a shitty situation, but…”

Castiel cut him off this time, that anger still simmering beneath his cool tone. “No. I do not wish to cause pain because, having seen that, and heard my brothers talk about their own experiences… I would not ever want to knowingly hurt someone that I love. It is not in my nature.”

Dean frowned. This wasn’t the way he’d expected that conversation to go. But… He couldn’t say that he really minded, either. He wanted Cas, he wanted _Angel_. This didn’t mean he was going to get what he wanted, though. Pretty words were still just that: words.

Still, Cas hadn’t stopped talking. “Any submission you chose to gift me with would be treated with the utmost reverence; I would never want to be the cause of harm coming to you. Truly, Dean. It takes great strength for anyone to give up even partial control to another; I would not abuse that trust. Have I… done something which would indicate otherwise to you? Please, if I have, tell me… I would correct that as soon as possible.”

Dean’s anger was derailed at the sorrow in Cas’ voice. His dom (and, really, he couldn’t deny that the name on his wrist had been written in his heart for a long time; Castiel _was_ his dom, even if he didn’t know what to do with that yet) seemed almost to glow in the orange flourescence of the diner. The concern in his eyes was matched with the sadness that had crept into his words. He wanted to believe him, he wanted _so much_ to trust him. “If that’s not what you want, then why did you tell me to read that book?” Despite himself, confusion drained into his voice. How could Cas, _Angel_ tell him to read that and then dare to be confused when Dean was hurt by it?

Cas frowned again, but it still didn’t seem angry to Dean. Just disconcerted. “Which book, Dean? All that I recall from our conversation was you intending to do some research. I do not recall a specific book being mentioned.”

Dean blinked. “I… Really?” He shifted a little bit in the seat. The waitress appeared then, apparently having been giving them space. 

“What can I get you boys?”

Castiel glanced up at her, his voice still a little strained when he spoke. “If we could have another moment, please?”

She cracked her gum and nodded. “Alright, sure thing honey. Just wave when you’re ready..” Then she disappeared, leaving Dean staring at his hands and feeling slightly deflated.  
Looking back on their conversation, Cas was right. He _hadn’t_ mentioned that book, in particular. Mal was the one who suggested that.

Dean felt sick. What had he done? He’d just come in here, assuming Cas was going to beat him ( _”Not without good reason for that assumption,”_ John’s voice in his head whispered maliciously) and hadn’t even given the guy a _reason_ for why he was so freaked out.

Tentatively, Cas reached out and set his hand on Dean’s. “You don’t have to tell me,” Cas said softly. “I do not want you to feel forced into anything. But know that I will listen, if you want to?”

Dean stared at that hand, not restraining, just… Being, and he swallowed around the lump that had formed in his throat. Yeah. Pretty words. Cas wouldn’t stick around for long once he knew the whole story, though. No one did. He didn’t want to open himself up to that kind of mockery or pain, no matter how much Cas said he was willing to help. At the same time, though, he didn’t want to lose Cas. And even though he said wouldn’t be going anywhere, it wasn’t fair to just… flip out like he had with no explanation.

He swallowed hard again, and stared hard at their joined hands. He didn’t think he could stand it if he were to meet Cas’ eyes. Logically he might know that Cas wouldn’t judge him, but… Experience was a hard teacher.

“I can’t talk about it here,” he said finally. “Not… All of it. But I’ll try. Some. I’ve had some really shitty doms in my life, okay? I think you got that vibe. And yesterday I was doing some research into contracts, like you suggested, and I opened my copy of a Sub’s Guide to Dynamics, and… Fuck, I dunno.” He pulled his hands away from Cas’, and turned his head to stare out the window, watching the cars pass. He wished he was out there, on the open road. When he was a kid, he never had to worry about this. Forever is a hell of a lot scarier than ‘just for now’, and he had never had to worry about longer than a few months at a time. “It just… reminded me of some stuff.”

Dean’s eyes were drawn back to Cas as he heard him make a small sound; the look on the dom’s face was one of horror. “You were reading _that_ to get contract advice? Oh… Dean…” 

Dean frowned. “What? That’s what my… friend said I should read. That he used it when he and his wife were talking contracts.”

“Dean, that book is straight out of the fifties. I don’t think it has been updated since my parents were negotiating their contracts. I… Even if you did _not_ have trauma in your past, well, I can see how it would provide a skewed view of a relationship like ours.”

“Really?” Dean wasn’t sure why he would believe Cas over Mal, but decided he’d just have to ask Mal later. “So what do you suggest I do?” His tone was vaguely challenging, but he didn’t bother trying to change it; he still wasn’t quite over the rollercoaster of emotion he’d gone through this morning.

“Honestly? I know you are a good enough researcher to know that one single source is rarely enough. And I would suggest that you ask Jessica for her suggestions. I know you do not know her well yet, but she, and her subs rights group, have already done quite a bit of research. They could save you a lot of leg work.”

Dean leaned back in the booth. “Huh,” he said slowly. “I hadn’t thought of that. I… Yeah. Thanks.” Why not? Yeah, kind of strange, but she had seemed nice enough, and at the end of the day, how was it any stranger than asking a librarian?

Castiel’s smile broadened. “You are welcome.” He ‘stretched’, and Dean felt a foot rub gently against his own, briefly. “Now… I believe we had agreed to meet for coffee? Perhaps you would like some pie as well?”

Dean sniffed; now that he was more relaxed, he could smell the mixed berry pie baking in the next room. “That sounds good,” he said, nodding a little bit, as Cas raised a hand to waive the waitress over. “But remember, I asked you, so I’m paying this time.”

Dean felt his stomach twist in an entirely more pleasant way as Castiel chuckled at that. “Of course, Dean,” he agreed easily. “I do believe that was our agreement.” With that out of the way, Dean was able to settle into the bench and felt himself heading toward that easy camaraderie that he and Cas had always shared.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mary pulled into a parking spot outside of the garage where Sam had gotten his oil changed, glad she had gotten the name and address off the internet before she left the hotel that morning. This was complex enough without adding ‘calling Sam for directions to spy on Dean’ into the mix.

Anyway, she wasn’t spying. No, most definitely not. She was information gathering, because even though she trusted Sam, she needed to see with her own eyes before she could let herself grow attached. This was… Too much to take on faith, no matter what her son said. Her _youngest_ son, and wasn’t that a kicker? The only excuse she had was that she had been young and dumb when John Winchester had told her that Dean was dead, and that she had another son she should content herself with. Her grief had kept her from investigating then, but it wouldn’t now.

She glanced in the mirror. Sunglasses; check. Black wig (that did _not_ suit her features, but looked natural enough); check. Blazer and slacks she only wore when she had to go to graduate presentations; check. She fit in well enough, she thought. She poured a calculated spill of holy water from a flask out of her purse onto the seat and steering wheel, then gripping the silver keychain in her hand tightly, she slid out of the car and crossed the parking lot with brisk, sure steps. Now that she was here, she wasn’t going to leave until she’d seen her son.

A young man stood behind the counter, filing something, and he glanced up when she entered, flashing a bright smile that was so John it made her heart ache. ‘Hi there,” he said, grinning. “Welcome to Mal’s Motors, how can I help you today?”

Mary advanced to the counter. Her heart was beating in her chest, so hard it felt like it was going to beat right out of her shirt. Dean. This was her Dean. It had to be, she knew it. “Hi, Dean” she managed after a moment, glancing purposely at the name on his work uniform to be sure she wasn’t wrong. She passed him her keys, watching for a wince or a hiss when he took the silver. There was nothing. “I’m the little white Camaro out there,” she said. “I need an oil change, please.”

“Sure thing,” he said, and his smile was easy and sweet. She couldn’t see where Sam had said he was damaged, until she reached for her wallet with her left hand, and her second cuff came into view. Mary watched as his eyes locked onto the cuff, and then dropped to the counter.. Still, her heart broke as he became more subdued almost instantly. “Uh, can... you tell me what the year of your car is?”

“Yes, it’s a two thousand five.” He entered it into the computer, but never quite met her eyes again. 

“Alright, uh, ma’am, it’ll just… It’ll be about half an hour wait…” His voice was much more tentative, as though he was expecting her to protest the wait time. “Is there… Can I have a name for the order, please, ma’am?”

“Kate,” Mary said, thinking of the ID she was going to use. “Kate Lowden.” 

Dean entered that into the computer as well. “Yes ma’am... I’ll just, I’ll be right back. If you’d…There’s coffee, ma’am, if you’d like? You’re welcome to help yourself.”

Mary watched carefully as Dean headed out of the garage and over to where she’d parked her car. This was it; the final test. Was he her Dean? It didn’t seem to bother him as he climbed in, drove it over to the garage and climbed out again. Mary felt herself practically sag with relief. Dean. It was _her_ Dean.

Still reeling, she managed to take herself to the coffee pot and fix it black and sweet, as she liked it, and then sit to wait for the car. Sam was right. This was his brother. He was still alive, after all these years. Yet another reason to hate John Winchester; he’d damaged both her boys lives, and stolen her son from her.

She filled her half hour wait for the car with plotting revenge. She didn’t yet know how or when, but he was going to pay.

She glanced up when Dean walked back into the lobby area. “Uh? Ms. Lowden, ma’am?” He held out her keys. “Your car is ready… Whenever you are?”

Mary stood up and headed over to the desk. “Sure thing,” she said, smiling as reassuringly as she could. “What’s my total?”

Deam still managed to not meet her eyes as he went to the computer to print her invoice. “It says your total is… Thirty even, ma’am…” Still hesitant, as though she were going to fight him on the price, too. 

But she just reached for her wallet and pulled out two twenties, purposely brushing her fingers on Dean’s when she passed him the money. She smiled at Dean, gently, she hoped. “Thank you, Dean,” she said earnestly. “That is one of the fastest oil changes I’ve ever had. Are you allowed to accept tips? I would very much like to let you keep the change.”

This time, Dean _did_ briefly meet her eyes, a look of shock on his face. “I...I’m not sure, ma’am,” he said, the confusion in his voice that much more evident. “I’ve never been offered a tip before. It’s just my job.”

Mary pressed the money more firmly into his hand. “Please, then, take it. You deserve it.”

Dean flushed, and looked back down at his hands. “Uh, well, thank you,” he said. “Thank you very much.”

Mary took her keys back and nodded. “Thank you again, Dean,” she said earnestly, before turning and leaving the garage. Her car waited for her, and she slid into the driver’s seat. She could still see Dean through the window of the garage; she wanted nothing more than to go and introduce herself, to pull off the wig and make it known that _he was her son_. But that wouldn’t be fair to him, not when she could see how tentative, how easily hurt he was. No, that would have to wait until tomorrow, when he came to Sam’s.

Sam’s car was at his apartment when she pulled up, and she wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or annoyed. She wanted some time to decompress, but ultimately, she knew it would be better to talk things out with her youngest. He knew more about the situation than she did, and every hunter’s best weapon was research.

She climbed out of the car and reached into the trunk for her duffel, before climbing the steps and knocking on the door. Twice. She had a key, and if Sam weren’t home she would have let herself in, but every once in a while, her mother’s manners shone through, and she let her son open the door.

Sam’s eyes widened when he took in who was standing at his door. “Mom? What… Never mind, come in…” He stepped back and waved her inside, waiting until she followed before shutting the door. “I guess you went to see Dean?” It was a question, but not really much of one. “I thought you might come here, first, freshen up. That’s a long drive…” His voice was flat, but Mary couldn’t bring herself to listen to that. There was too much at stake.

Mary shook her head, dropping her bag on the floor. “I had to see him, and I couldn’t wait.” She stepped into the room and hugged her son to her. “You were right, Sam. He needs so much help.” She stepped back again and picked her bag back up. “I need a shower, and then we need to talk. I need to know whatever I can about Dean.”

She didn’t look back as she passed Sam and headed for the bathroom; he had to go and get his things out of the trunk anyway.

When Mary returned downstairs, wrapped snugly in her robe, she settled herself in the kitchen. It didn’t take long for her to start a pot of tea water and sit at the table. Predictably, Sam walked in a few minutes later. “Ah, hello sweetie,” she said, smiling up at him. She knew this wasn’t going to be a good conversation. Her sweet Sam, so earnest and trustworthy, but always so intense. He wanted to be right, all the time; it was part of why he wanted to be a lawyer. Mary loved how much he was committed to the truth, to justice. But the part of her that was a Hunter knew that he could blind himself to danger with his desire to just _fix_ things. It was her job to make sure that he was safe, even if he was an adult now.

Sam frowned, sitting at the table with a thump. “Dude, mom, what the hell? I mean… What the hell is wrong with you? A wig? I bet silver, too. You couldn’t just trust me?” 

Mary winced. She had expected it, but that never made Sam’s self-righteous censure any easier to bear. “Sam, you know I do trust you. But… This was something I had to check for myself. You really wanted a brother, you always have. And I wanted this to be real, too. So I had to come and see. You _know_ that there are things out there that can take advantage of people like us, Sam, people who want things they can’t have. I had to be sure.”

Mary never minded explaining herself. She liked to know she had been clear, that Sam would follow her plan because he agreed with her. But there were times, times like today, that Sam’s gaze would harden and he’d set his teeth in that stubborn way that never failed to remind Mary of John. His stubbornness had been one of his most attractive, if frustrating, traits, and Sam had that same trait down to a science.

“Mom, you could have trusted me. Or, I don’t know, waited until tomorrow, when he came for dinner. Seriously, I _know_ what’s out there. I wouldn’t just have let anyone in the house. Not with Jess and Cas around. I mean, Jess is getting better, but Cas is still unprotected. I just can’t believe you didn’t take my word.”

Mary sighed. “Sam, honey, it’s not that I don’t trust you,” she said again. She didn’t want to fight. Part of her was still singing with elation. Her boy was alive! She wanted to turn around and drive back to the garage, to hold him tight and keep him close. But another part of her hummed with anger at the damage that she could see. Just their few brief interactions had showed her how much help Dean needed. How hurt he was. Sam hadn’t been exaggerating that in the least. She wanted to mend his hurts, soothe his tears, as she should have been able to do years ago. And insead she was here, with her other son, and she couldn’t deny that part of her was angry at how Sam had hidden Dean from her. She fought down her irritation to keep her voice level. “It’s just that Dean… was a pipe dream. He shouldn’t exist. So I just had to know.”

Sam stood up, pacing the floor, his long lanky frame filling up the space with the grace of a caged tiger. “And what about when he figures out that you were the one that tested him? He’s going to recognize your car, mom. Look. Dean’s been lied to enough, okay? He needs… He needs to know that he can trust us, or we’re going to lose him again. And I can’t do that.”

Mary felt a surge of pride for her wonderful, headstrong, protective son. She stood and went to hug him. “Sam, honey. Take a deep breath.” She squeezed him close once, and then drew him back to the table to sit. “You’re right. And I’ll apologize to him tomorrow, explain it. I’ll let him know he can trust me. I don’t want to lose him any more than you do.”

The tea kettle whistled and Mary stood up, moving to fix them two cups of strong black tea. “Now… Enough about that.” Even though she wanted to know everything about Dean, she didn’t want to push it. Clearly this was a very sensitive topic for Sam, and she wanted to let him know she was going to respect it. That meant giving it a break for now. “Tell me about your year. How are Jessica and Castiel?” She settled back at the table with her son, watching his face closely. For a few moments she thought he was going to push the fight, like he used to do when he was a kid, but then he just took a deep breath and reached for his mug.

“They’re fine,” he said, and Mary relaxed. She had one son here, safe, in front of her, and another who would be joining her, where he belonged, tomorrow. Finally, _finally_ , things were how they should be.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies to everyone who has been waiting for this! I've been in the process of buying a house so my life is all 'finances-tours-packing-paperwork' right now. But I hope this (kind of a little bit short but that's where this ended so that's where I left it) chapter makes you happy!
> 
> Once again, thanks to the amazing Lisa for helping me through my writers block! And thanks to all of you who have commented, I know I"ve been horrifically lax at replying lately, but I've read them all, and you're all awesome!
> 
> Dare

Dean stepped into the break room, washing his hands after the oil change. He’d been waiting to get Mal alone since he’d met with Cas, with co-workers coming and going every time Dean managed to get up the nerve to say something. But finally it was the end of shift on Thursday and Dean sensed a chance to bring up The Book. Ever since his conversation with Cas, Dean had been uncomfortable. It hadn’t been Cas to tell him to read that book, after all. That had been Mal’s idea. Still, Dean couldn’t think that it was malicious; Mal had been too good of a friend to him to have suggested something if he’d known it would be harmful.

Luckily for him, Mal sat at his desk in the back, working on something. “Hey, Mal, can I ask you a question?” Dean approached the desk quickly, because he didn’t want to run the risk of something calling Mal’s attention yet again.

The older man looked up, waving a hand at the seat across from his desk. “Sure thing, Dean, what can I do for you?” 

This was an easier confrontation than the one with Cas. Dean felt himself relax as he sat down across from the desk. He’d known Mal a long time, and he had no reason to think that anything had been done out of maliciousness, and the familiar scents and sounds of the garage were soothing. “Well I was just wondering… I did some reading the other night. The Sub’s Guide to Dynamics, like you suggested. And, ah… Well. It seems pretty outdated, man. The things you were telling me to look for in a relationship, they really weren’t in there. I was just wondering if I maybe have an older edition or something?”

Mal blinked. “They’re not?” He seemed genuinely baffled, and Dean shook his head. 

“Naw, man, they’re not. I mean. It was really fuckin’ messed up. I… Yeah, I didn’t take it well.” He looked up, glad they were alone. Mal never judged him, he knew, but that didn’t really make opening up any easier. Even in this familiar, safe place, this was still one of the hardest conversations he’d ever had. 

Mal set down his paperwork and looked at him directly. “Oh, Dean. I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think to ask where your book was from… I just figured that since I’m only a couple years older than you, they’d be similar.”

Dean looked down, staring intently at a grease patch on his thigh. He really didn’t want to talk about this, but somehow it was good, feeling Mal’s concerned gaze bear down on him. In all the years he’d been at Stanford, he’d never met anyone who he could trust quite as much as he could trust Mal. “My book basically wanted some serious Stepford shit,” he said without looking up. “Like. ‘The sub should be clean and well groomed and ready with a clean house and a hot dinner when their dom arrives.” He shuddered. “Serious bullshit.”

Mal made a sound of disgust. “Where were you when you got your book, Dean?”

The younger man shrugged and finally dared to look up. “Ah, I dunno… I think we were in Texas when I got my Name. Does it matter?”

Mal nodded immediately. “Yes, it does. States get to set their own content of the Dom and Sub’s Guides,” he said. “So your book coming from Texas… Well, they’re a lot more… Conservative than some other places. That really explains a lot, Dean.”

Dean frowned. Really? Well that was seriously screwy. “Why the hell would they say shit like that to teenagers?” He shook his head; he knew why. John had been saying it for years, even since before Dean got his Name and his designation. He leaned back. “Well… Damn. So what does yours say?”

Mal smiled, a genuine smile that made Dean relax. “Well, mostly it says that these relationships should be built on mutual respect and trust. That you need to stay within the boundaries of what makes you comfortable. That it’s really conversation that makes the points for you. No one else is in your life, and no one has to read your contract if you don’t want. So don’t stress about it. Talk to your dom and the two of you can work it out.”

Dean nodded, though his mind really was going a million miles an hour. Talk to Cas. Easier said than done. He might really like the guy, and trust him in a really superficial way. But to trust him with something like this… Dean had really wanted to have a book, to draft the first copy all by himself so he felt armed and prepared when he went in. 

Mal cleared his throat, making Dean look up sharply. “Don’t stress out about it, Dean,” he said, not unkindly. “You and your dom can make your own decisions, and I know you’ll make the right ones _for you_. Until then, experiment, and enjoy yourself.” He shifted and stood, patting Dean’s shoulder as he came around the desk. “On that note, I really hate to leave you like this, Dean, but we’ve got a doctor’s appointment to see the baby today and I really don’t want to be late.”

Dean smiled at that, shaking his head. “No, man, no, that’s great. Don’t let me keep you. I’ll lock up, you go see that baby of yours.”

“Thanks, Dean,” Mal said as he headed for the door. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. Well, you let me know if you need anything else, alright?”

Dean didn’t answer, because Mal was halfway out the door, mind clearly already on other things. Dean stood up and headed to complete the familiar process of shutting down the garage. Most of the clean-up had already been done, because everyone contributed before they left, but Dean finished sweeping and put away a few stray tools that had been missed. It was soothing, the solitude and straightforward process almost meditative. By the time he left the garage, locking it behind him, he felt as though he could maybe talk to Cas again. He did want this, after all, and he didn’t want to talk himself out of it. “I survived the rest of that stuff,” he said to himself, as though saying it out loud would make it true. “I could survive this. I _want_ this.”

He pulled out his phone, not wanting to lose his nerve, but as he did, it rang. His father’s familiar number popped up on screen, and Dean made a face. He answered it anyway, like he always did. What choice did he have? “It’s Dean.” As though it would be anyone else.

John’s voice washed over him and he forced himself to keep walking in a straight line. “Dean. You’re working late today. I tried the house and you didn’t pick up.”

“Uh, yeah. I had to close up; my boss had to leave early for an appointment.”

John made a vaguely annoyed sound on the other end of the phone. “Well, whatever. Just get home. I’m in Blue Earth with Jim and I need you to do some research.”

Dean felt his stomach sink. If dad was with Jim, that meant the problem was one that even the priest’s wide knowledge base didn’t cover. Shit. So much for researching with Castiel, and dinner with mom. 

“Yes, sir,” he said, because what else was he going to say? “What’s up?” This definitely wasn’t how he’d wanted to spend his evening, but his research with Castiel wasn’t life-and-death… Dinner wasn’t either. But anything dad called about? It was. Dad needed to come first, because he never called if it wasn’t urgent.

“I need information on a monster,” John said. Dean reached into his pocket for his little notebook he always carried. It had only taken forgetting important case information once before Dean had learned to always have something to hand to take notes with. The bruises had lasted for weeks, which really drove the point home. “We’re not sure what it is yet; we think it might be Indonesian, because there’s a large immigrant population in town. There have been several attacks on pregnant women and infants. We’ve found a few marks indicating… Maybe it came up through the floor.”

Dean frowned. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do.” He hung up the phone and then, reluctantly, dialed Sam. His brother picked up on the second ring and his voice made Dean’s heart clench. 

“Hey, Dean, what’s up?”

Dean’s stomach twisted. There were no words for how much he _didn’t_ want to do this, but if John called then it meant serious research. “Yeah, listen… I know I was supposed to come over for dinner tomorrow, but…”

Sam cut him off. “Woah woah, dude… No… _please_ tell me you’re not bailing on us. On mom.” His voice sounded heartbroken. “Listen, I know we came on kind of strong, but if you’re really uncomfortable, we can meet you somewhere public. It doesn’t have to be here…”

Dean was surprised by how vehemently Sam apparently wanted him to come. “Naw, Sammy, it’s nothing like that. It’s just… Remember how I told you how John is a private investigator? Sometimes he calls and asks for my help with research, that’s all. I just… need to help him with some information. I’ll maybe be free by tomorrow but I can’t promise.”

Sam made a small sound of disbelief at that, but Dean was grateful that he didn’t comment further. Instead, he just said, “alright. Well, mom will be disappointed, but I’m sure she’ll understand. I”ll keep my fingers crossed though.”

Dean had to smile. And even with his worry about John hanging over his head, he felt a warm bubble in his stomach. Sam didn’t care about Dean’s jobs, or his insecurities. He just wanted a relationship. It was good, to have someone who cared about him for _him_ , no strings attached. But he had to turn that off; he had to get his head back in the game. By the time he reached his house, Dean was focused only on one thing: the Hunt. It was the only way he could ensure everyone’s safety, the only way he could safely participate. 

He stepped into his house, unlocking the door quickly, and poured a new salt line, then headed immediately for his books. Indonesian… That made things a lot easier, because it was a starting point at least. It made things a lot harder, too, though. He didn’t have as much information on Indonesian folklore, because they just didn’t have enough monsters that made transatlantic crossings.

Dean felt himself settling into the familiar comfort of his books, the routine to find the information he wanted. He knew it was out there, it was just a matter of _finding_ it. He started by assembling all the books he had on Asian cultures, no matter how obscure. Yeah, he’d probably do an internet search too, but without a starting point that tended to get kind of daunting. So assembly first, like Bobby always said. Soon he had his most likely candidates stacked next to the couch.

He made himself a pot of coffee and a sandwich, then headed out of the kitchen. He wanted to get started; the sooner he could find this son-of-a-bitch, the better. Still, though, Dean knew from experience that he tended to get caught up and he would rather take the time to be prepared. Skipping meals _sucked_. His notebook open, he reached for the first book, skimming expertly to the index. He started with Indonesia, because it was better than nothing to start from. 

The first three books he tried had nothing obvious, and Dean set them aside to start his reject stack. Frustration was growing, and he wanted to just _find something_ already. There were lives riding on this, women and children he’d never met, who he’d never _meet_ , but they needed his help. Every minute that passed was another minute that some… Monster could be attacking a helpless child. Dean felt sick.

He took a deep breath, and then turned his attention to the books again. There had to be a clue. _Had_ to be. The hours ticked past, one after another, and Dean’s frustration grew. A pot of coffee, a second, and he was still awake, still looking. It wasn’t until he heard his alarm going off in the bedroom that he realized he’d pulled an all-nighter. He stood with a groan, stumbling back toward the hall to shut it off, when the book he’d been about to go through fell off his lap, tripping him. “Damn it!” He stumbled, but when he bent to pick it up, something caught his eye. “The Penanggal will smell of vinegar at all times.” 

The alarm’s blaring forgotten for the moment, Dean picked the book up, scanning the paragraph. The lore was Malaysian, and not Indonesian like John had thought, but the rest of it fit. So now he just had to figure out what to do to kill the damn thing.

Armed with a name and country of origin, Dean did another search of the internet, and it wasn’t more than another twenty minutes before he stood up with a grin. “Gotcha, bitch,” he said, reaching for his phone. It rang twice before John answered.

“Dean? What’ve you got?”

“It’s a Penanggal,” Dean said, falling into report mode as he had done so many times over the years. “A woman, young or old, but beautiful. Usually a midwife. You can tell her by the smell of vinegar. She flies around as a disembodied head with entrails hanging out…” Dean shuddered. “Ugh. But you can kill her, if you figure out where her body is hiding. She tends to perch over the birthplaces of babies. I bet you’ll find her near a hospital. Anyway, if you find the body, you can sanctify it and burn it. Then the head will die at sunrise.”

Dean heard a rustle from the other end of the line indicating that John was writing it down. “Got it. I’ll be in touch.”

The line went dead. Dean looked at the phone with a sigh. He tried not to let himself be too disappointed. John almost never said thanks, so why would he now? But that didn’t mean it didn’t smart a little. 

Dean had given up his plans, and spent all night looking for this information, would it kill the sonovabitch to be a _little_ appreciative? But that was irrational. At least according to John. After all, Dean had a job. One job. The only way he could be trusted to keep his hand in The Business, so to speak. And he did it well. He didn’t need thanks. 

Anyway, John was just doing it to protect him. At least according to John. Right? Right! Even if Dean felt like he would be _fine_ out in the field… But that was neither here nor there. His job was done, and now Dean got to go to his other job, the one that paid his bills. 

Dean pulled himself out of the chair and looked back at the array of research strewn about. With a grimace he thought about what he’d give up this time. Again. 

Glancing at his phone as he shoved it in his pocket, the clock reminded Dean that he’d have to rush to make it to work. He picked up his phone, juggling it on one arm as he headed for the door. “Hey, Mal,” he said a bit blearily. He blinked as he pulled on his coat, not even caring that he was still wearing the same clothes from the day before. “I’m just running a little late… I’ll be in though.”

Mal’s voice was warm from the other end of the line. “Long night, huh, Dean? Hey, listen, why don’t you take the day? You were gonna go to Sam’s tonight, right? You’ve been talking about it all week. Stay home, get some rest, be ready to go over there. We don’t have many appointments for today, we’ll be fine without you. I’ll see you Monday, have a good weekend!”

Dean normally would push, would fight to prove that he was Just Fine, Thank You Very Much. Mal’s words were gently given, but he knew better than to fight his boss on this one. If Mal wanted to give him the day of, he totally could. And anyway, he wanted to go see Mary so badly it _burned_ , and so he knew he needed to rest. “Uh… Thanks, Mal,” he said instead of protesting, letting himself be persuaded. He turned back around, stumbling just once as he crossed into the house. It was almost too much effort to redraw the salt line. Almost. He dropped clothes as he walked down the hall to his room, and barely knew he was in the bed before he fell asleep.

When he woke, ravenous, at about five, he sat up abruptly. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he heard what had woken him. His cell phone blared, the intro to ‘Stairway to Heaven’. Well, the first five seconds of it, anyway. He reached awkwardly across the bed to where it had fallen on the pillow when he went to sleep, to find Sam’s name on the screen. He swiped a clumsy finger across to answer. “Hullo?”

Sam’s voice, puppy dog chipper, greeted him immediately. “Hi Dean! You’re home, great! I was just… Well, I didn’t hear from you earlier and I was hoping maybe you’d finished whatever it is that you’re doing and you might be able to still come over for dinner?”

Dean blinked again, but smiled anyway. “Uh, yeah. Sure, Sammy. I actually finished it and I’m free, so… Yeah. I’ll be over in like… An hour, if that’s okay?”

Sam’s grin was almost palpable through the phone; Dean swore he could hear the beaming smile. He could certainly picture it, based on his conversations with the younger man. “Dude, that’s totally fine. That’s awesome. Actually, I’m about to run out to the grocery store to get a few things, so if you want, I can swing by in like an hour and pick you up? It’s not out of my way, I swear.”

Dean felt another little flip flop in his stomach. What had he done to deserve someone like Sam in his life? Seriously, they’d only known each other a couple weeks, and Sam already seemed to know just what to say. “Uh… Sure, if you’re sure it’s not out of the way.”

“Naw, and hey, that means I have help carrying in the groceries.” Sam laughed. “Anything special you want to drink? We’re doin’ steaks for dinner. Mom’s wicked on the grill… I’m doin’ a potato salad and biscuits, mom’s grillin’ corn…”

As if Dean needed more excuses to head over there for dinner. His stomach growled hungrily as he pushed himself off the bed to go start getting ready. “No… Dude, that sounds awesome. I’m cool with whatever you guys are drinkin’, though…” He trailed off. “So, uh, is anyone else gonna be there?” He wasn’t sure what he hoped the answer would be, actually. 

On the one hand, he really wanted to see Mary, just him and Sam. He’d imagined it, and part of him felt awful for even considering the idea that someone else could intrude on their time. He wanted the chance to meet his mom, get to know her. They’d missed so much time, and he just… wanted to get it back, silly as that was.

But Jess and Castiel lived there; hell, they’d probably been ‘part of the family’ longer than Dean. It wouldn’t be fair to kick them out of the house for Dean’s sake. Anyway. A part of Dean kind of… _wanted_ the buffer. For all their little… Whatever that was, the other day, he knew Castiel accepted him, just the way he was. He wasn’t disappointed in Dean. Well, not in the ways that mattered. And Dean couldn’t shake the part of him that felt like he was going to disappoint Mary. He wasn’t the kid she wished he was, he was sure of it. They hadn’t even met yet, but he knew. 

What mother wants a high-school dropout, working as a car mechanic because that’s the only thing he’s even remotely qualified for? He wasn’t ever going to go on and be a lawyer, like Sammy, or a doctor, like Jess. Hell, he wasn’t even really smart enough to own his own shop one day… He’d be working for someone else for the rest of his life. And it wasn’t like he could say ‘yeah, mom, I’m a mechanic, but hey, in the evenings I save people from monsters!’ No, that was something he’d never be able to share with her, and that _sucked_. So yeah. A buffer in the form of Castiel, someone Dean was already getting… distressingly used to leaning on? It might be nice.

“No… Uh, Jess has her Subs Rights meeting tonight, and Cas is finishing up some art project thing. I dunno, he wasn’t real clear. Anyway. They both said they’d come by later, if we want.”

Dean wasn’t sure if he was relieved or distressed at that, but there wasn’t much else to say, so he nodded. “Cool, cool. Okay well I’m gonna hit the shower, man, so I’ll see you when you get here. Just honk.”

Sam’s laugh came across the line. “Sure thing, dude, see you in a bit.”

Dean felt immeasurably lighter as he hung up the phone and headed for the shower.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, guys! :)
> 
> Finally some Mary! I hope you like her. There will be more Next Update, but for now... A little mother-son bonding! Yay!
> 
> Anyway. Coming soon: Dean and Cas, Dean and Mary, Dean and Sam, Dean and Jess... Just Dean and happiness! (While it lasts, at least.)
> 
> Thanks to everyone for commenting, it really means a lot to me. 
> 
> This chapter is for Lisa, who has been having a busy time at work. Thanks for your help, no matter how crazy your life is!

The shower helped to relieve some of the anxiety he was feeling, but that lasted about as long as it took for the water to turn off. Once he stepped back into his room to get dressed, it was back full force. Dean’s outfit was much more carefully chosen for this dinner than his last outfit to Sam’s had been. His jeans were spotless, his newest pair. If he owned a pair of slacks he would have put them on, but… He didn’t. So he was left with still-stiff blue jeans and a too crisp shirt that he wasn’t sure that he had ever actually worn; it had been a gift from Mal one birthday, to give him an option for dressing up that wasn’t flannel. On the day he’d received it, it had been shoved in his closet and forgotten, but today Dean was grateful for the green cotton shirt that still was neatly pressed.

He buttoned the last button, and paced into the bathroom, where he combed his hair and did a last minute check for stubble. Yeah, he’d shaved in the shower, but that didn’t mean he was less worried. Mary was his mother and this was an impression that _mattered_. He paced back and forth in the living room after he finished dressing, and glanced at the clock. Still nearly forty five minutes; even with his carefully chosen outfit, his routine was expedited by his nervousness. He hated showing up empty handed, and he knew he needed to do something to keep his hands busy or he’d go _nuts_.

He went to shove his phone back in his pocket, but paused as it buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and what he saw brought a smile to his lips.

 **Angel:** Pretty, I hadn’t heard from you today, and I wanted to tell you that I am thinking of you. I hope you are well. Sam mentioned you might not make it to dinner tonight. If you are feeling ill please do not hesitate to let me know if there is anything I can do for you.

Despite his stress, Dean chuckled a little bit. They’d had as close to a fight as any they’d had yet, but still Angel was checking on him. It warmed him deep inside, in ways he wasn’t sure how to examine yet.

 **Pretty:** Thanks, man… I’m cool. I’m actually just waiting for Sam now.

 **Angel:** Oh, good. That is a relief. Well I hope you enjoy your dinner. I have a class now, I’ll talk to you later.

 **Pretty:** ;-)

He slipped his phone back into his pocket, still smiling. How could someone have such a profound impact on him in just a couple of weeks? It couldn’t be denied, though; Angel was dominating more and more of his thoughts. It was certainly a welcome change from his anxiety about meeting Mary, and how much he was sure she wouldn’t like him… And with that one thought, he’d come full circle, right back to his initial freak out.

“C’mon Dean, chill,” he muttered to himself as he flopped onto the couch. “It’s no big deal. Really. It’s no biggie. Don’t even worry about it, right man?” Sitting lasted about thirty seconds, before he was up and pacing again. “You’re just talking to yourself like a nutbag, but hey, whatever. It’s all cool.” He pressed his forehead against the chill wall, then straightened up. “Yeah. No. Totally not cool. Damn.” He clenched his hand against his jeans and then shook his head. “Gotta do somethin’...”

Making a decision, he went into the kitchen and began pulling out ingredients. Texting Cas wasn’t an option, so cooking it was. It was going to be a stretch, but hey, Sammy had an oven, right? “Won’t be the first time you pulled a pie together in less than an hour, right?” He asked himself as he began to measure ingredients for his crust into a bowl. He pulled out his pastry cutter, and began to mix flour, butter and salt with a little bit of water until he had the perfect dough consistency. _Huh,_ he thought to himself, _wonder what Cas would say if he knew I can bake._ The thought of Cas, strangely enough, was calming. He smiled as he thought about the brownies he’d have to make some time for his dom, even as he put the dough in the fridge to rest. As he headed over to the pantry to get a couple apples out, he chuckled. Some people kept twinkies around, some people kept chips, and Dean wouldn’t lie. He often had both of those things. But at the end of the day he wasn’t ever more comforted than when he had a slice of apple pie, so he always had the makings of a good pie around. Sometimes he just needed one. It was surprising though, the first couple times he’d brought a pie in to work and Mal hadn’t known that quirk. It wasn’t many rough and tumble guys, at least in Dean’s experience, who also baked pies.

He sliced the apples and mixed in the sugar and spices; the recipe was essentially his own, an amalgamation of all his favorite diner pies over the years. He added raisins, a sweet treat he’d added since he tasted a pie in New Orleans that had blown his mind. By the time he’d coated the fruit in the sugar and spices, he figured the dough was rested enough, so he pulled out his pie tin and fetched the dough from the fridge. Dean knew exactly how to roll it out to have enough for two pies, so he figured he’d make one for now and save some dough for later. He resolutely _didn’t_ think about how much he hoped Mary liked his pie, because at least he knew he could do _that_ right.

Dean rolled the dough to the perfect consistency, and then carefully transferred it to the pie pan. He added the filling and some more butter on top to help it all mix, and then glanced at his watch. Right. Time for a full cover then; no time for a lattice top. He rolled out the second piece of dough and lay it on top. A couple of quick presses with a fork around and he’d sealed the edges, trimmed the scraps and straightened up. Glancing at his watch, he realized he had less than five minutes until Sam was due, so he quickly washed his hands and dusted the flour off his chest.

Taking his pie, he headed onto the porch to wait for Sam. He stood up as soon as he saw the car roll up the drive. “Hey Sammy,” he called, grinning. 

Sam shook his head as he leaned over and pushed the door open. “Hey dude… Good to see you. Oh man, is that apple pie? I _love_ apple pie!”

Dean fastened his seatbelt as Sam pulled out of the drive and headed toward his house. “Yeah. I didn’t want to make you guys do all the cooking, and I had some time to kill…” He shrugged and leaned back. “So I made a pie. No big deal, right?”

Sam smiled, reaching over to pat Dean’s shoulder. “Naw, no big deal. But I can’t wait. It’s gonna be great. Mom’ll love it too, I bet,” he said.

Dean’s squirm seemed to be enough to let Sam know how nervous he was. 

“Hey, man, don’t worry about it. Mom’s gonna love you, and she’s gonna love your pie. It’s going to be fine.”

“I’m that transparent, huh?” Dean glanced over at Sam. He wanted to be who Mary wanted him to be, but he was afraid that he was too much John’s son. He wasn’t enough for the parent he already had, but Mary… Maybe she was different. Sam sure seemed to think so, and if a dom like him could come from a mother like Mary, she must be at least a _little_ more progressive than John.

“Well… I haven’t know you very long, but yeah.” Sam’s laugh wasn’t mean spirited, so Dean just shook his head. 

“Yeah, well… Screw you, man,” he said instead, shaking his head. 

Sam was still laughing, but squeezed Dean’s shoulder once more. “It’s going to be great, Dean. Mom’s been champing at the bit to see you. If she could have got away with it, she would have had you over last night.” 

Dean’s mind was whirling. She was that excited to see him? It was strange, because John was never that happy to see him. Very few people were _excited_ to see him. He tried really hard not to compare people to John, but it made him uncomfortable to think about all the expectations she certainly had. Mary, of course, had an idea in her head who he was going to be and… Dean could admit to himself that he was terrified of Mary’s expectation of him.

“I… really don’t know what to say to that,” Dean admitted, shaking his head again. 

Sam turned on to his street. “Just loosen up, man, it’s gonna be great. Don’t get yourself too tied up. She just wants to meet you just like I did.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that, “ Dean said. Still, he couldn’t figure out _why_ she would want to do that. He’d learned the hard way that it was better not to say that kind of thing out loud, though, so he kept quiet and looked out the window for anything to take his mind off the butterflies currently having a rave in his stomach. 

His eyes fell on a white Camero parked right near Sam’s house. “Oh, hey… I did an oil change on that white Camero yesterday,” he said, jumping on the topic change. “Hard to forget a Wisconsin plate around here…” He trailed off, and Sam glanced up. 

“Uh, yeah… Sure is.”

Dean didn’t miss the way Sam’s voice dipped in uncertainty as he answered, but he was too nervous to follow up on it as Sam parked and he unlocked the doors. “Shit. Well. I guess this is it…” He looked down at himself. “Do I look ok?”

Sam smiled reassuringly. “Yeah, you look great, Dean. C’mon, you can help me grab the groceries.”

Grateful for something productive to do, Dean slid out of the car and grabbed the couple bags that Sam handed him. He was careful to keep the pie steady in the other hand, cognizant of the fact that it wasn’t baked yet so it was liable to slip around.

He followed Sam up to the house, waiting patiently for Sam to unlock the door even as his stomach clenched and his heartbeat ratcheted up. It was almost enough to make him want to turn tail and run. Almost. But Dean Winchester may be a lot of things, but coward wasn’t one of them. So he straightened his spine and clenched his hand around the handles of the bag.

Sam pushed the door open and they went in. “Hey mom, I’m home!” Sam’s voice rang out through the hallway as the taller man led the way into the kitchen. He didn’t seem worried about taking off his shoes, so Dean didn’t either, just followed mutely through to the small room. “I’ve got Dean with me!”

Dean’s mouth was dry, his palms clammy. He was afraid he was going to drop the pie if he wasn’t careful. But as they stepped into the kitchen, none of that mattered.

A petite blond woman stood at the counter chopping something, but she put down the knife at the sound of their footsteps and turned. “Dean.” Her voice was soft, and sounded something like… Sad. Dean swallowed as he took her in. She was slim, and her hair reached just past her shoulders. She had eyes like his own, and the same shape face he had, too. A smattering of freckles on her cheeks. She felt… Familiar.

He felt Sam taking the pie from his hands, and then the bags of groceries, as Mary stood across from him, watching and waiting. “Uh… Hi.” Dean said. Now that he didn’t have the bags, his hands felt strangely weightless, like he was going to float away if he wasn’t careful. Still, that feeling of familiarity tugged at him. He was a Hunter, despite what John thought, and his mind worked in a lot of ways at once. His eyes narrowed as he put the pieces together. “I know you,” he said. “You were at the garage yesterday! That’s your car out there! But… Your hair was black… And you had two…” He looked down at her wrists. She still wore two cuffs. He felt himself shutting down, pulling back.

He’d yelled at her. That wasn’t fair. He stepped backwards… Right into Sam, who rubbed his shoulders soothingly.

“Hey, hey Dean. Relax. It’s okay. Don’t worry. Deep breath, man. Deep breath.” 

Dean obediently took a deep breath. Then another. His head still felt like it was swimming. He missed the look from Sam to Mary, an ‘I told you so’ if ever there was one. “I changed your oil,” he said finally, though the inane phrase was all that came to his head. “But your hair was black.”

Mary nodded, having the grace to look chagrined. “Yes, you did, Dean,” she said. “I… couldn’t wait to see you. And I didn’t want to scare you by just… showing up where you worked. So I came in disguise.” She smiled sheepishly. “But I suppose the ‘not scaring you’ thing didn’t work out so well.”

Dean stood up. As good as it felt to be supported by Sam, he wanted to make sure he looked… self sufficient. “I wasn’t expecting that,’ he said instead. "I'm… really not sure what to say.”

Mary stood a safe distance away, her hands up placatingly. “You don’t have to say anything,” she said, shaking her head. “Just… I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere. And I’m sorry for frightening you. I do want to get to know you, Dean, but I know it’s going to take a while for you to trust me. I understand. You take all the time you need.”

Dean swallowed hard. This wasn’t how he’d expected this to go. It really wasn’t. First off, he’d always thought of mom as a sub, and why wouldn’t he? John was a dom, so it would stand to reason that mom would be a sub. The fact that switches were pretty rare didn’t hurt but… Dean couldn’t imagine John with someone who would challenge him the way he was sure that a switch would. He liked unquestioned obedience and that was that. 

More than that, the idea that someone would go to so much trouble as to _disguise themselves_ to meet him? That was completely foreign. Who would go to so much trouble for _him_? Ridiculous. And now she stood across from him, so hopeful. So earnest… And Dean could only see what he’d been wanting his whole life. He’d dreamed of a day when his mother would stand there with open arms. When he was little, he used to dream that she would make him lunch, with peanut butter sandwiches with the crusts cut off, like the kids at school had.

Now he was faced with her, and… Well. He wanted to be angry, or offended, or something. But all he could feel was… cautiously hopeful that she _wanted_ him, in a way he hadn’t really felt wanted since he was about… six. So he swallowed hard, and then felt the smile he’d lost creep back to his lips. “Hi,” he said again, and extended a hand. “I’m Dean.”

He felt a wave of relief, his stomach unknotting itself as she stepped forward to take it, squeezing gently. “Hello, Dean,” she said. Were those _tears_ in her eyes? “I’m Mary… I’m your mother. And I’ve been missing you for so, so long.”

That was enough to seal it for him, and Dean stepped forward, tentatively wrapping his arms around her. It felt right having her smaller frame pressed against him, and she immediately pulled him tight. So tight it almost hurt, but Dean didn’t pull away. Instead he put his head atop hers, and bit back his own tears. “Hi mom,” he whispered, and it felt like coming home.

He didn’t know how long they stood there, his arms around her and her head resting on his chest, but when they finally pulled apart, Dean swallowed hard and swiped a hand across his eyes roughly. “I, ah… I brought a pie,” he said lamely, to break the awkward silence filling the room.

Mary laughed, but it wasn’t mean spirited. Mary had a wonderful laugh, Dean thought. “I look very forward to tasting it,” she said, reaching up to brush a stray tear off of her own cheek. Then she looked up at Dean and touched his shoulder. “Would you like to come sit outside with me while I grill the steaks? The grill should be plenty hot by now…”

Dean swallowed, but nodded. “Yeah… I… Yeah. I’d like that a lot,” he said. “Just let me… Get the pie in the oven and I’ll come out.” Dean didn’t want to let Mary out of his sight. It felt like if she left then she would be back to the nearly mythical person she’d been his whole life. At the same time, though, he needed a few minutes to get his bearings. He needed some time to just process things. So he watched as Mary nodded and headed out to the back deck where the grill was, then he headed to the oven.

Sam followed him over, finishing putting the groceries away. “Well… That went well,” he said with a small chuckle. Dean looked up at him, shooting him a glare. He still felt off balance by all of it.

“You didn’t tell me mom was a switch. A _dommy_ switch,” he said , clearly a little miffed. 

Sam chuckled. “Well I didn’t want to freak you out. And anyway, I don’t really think about that much. It’s kind of creepy to dwell on your parents dynamics.”

“I guess,” Dean said, though John had never let him forget for even one minute who the ‘dom of the house’ was. “But the whole… Sneaking up to meet me in disguise thing is kind of weird too.”

Sam’s grimace told more than words, though he spoke anyway. “Yeah… I was pretty pissed at her for that,” he said. “I knew she wanted to see you before she met you, she told me that. But I thought she’d just, drive by the garage or something. I didn’t expect her to go full out Bond Villain with the disguises and everything.”

Dean barked out a laugh, feeling himself relaxing a little more than he’d expected. It was strange how much he and Sam had connected in just a short time, but even so, Dean knew the younger man had his back. He hadn’t ever had someone he could trust this fast, except maybe Cas… But that was different. He just felt like if he and Sam had grown up together, they would have been the best of friends. They would have stopped bullies, shared lunches, climbed trees, gotten in trouble… His heart clenched, suddenly, for the childhood he’d been robbed of.

“Yeah… It… it sounds like she didn’t mean anything by it.” He swallowed hard, and glanced out the window to where Mary stood over the stove with their steaks. “She looks like a really cool lady, Sam,” he said, willing his voice to be stronger.

“Yeah, she is.” Sam stepped closer, squeezing Dean’s shoulder. “Just… give her a chance, Dean,” he said. “Because trust me… You’ll love her just as much as I do, if you can do that.”

Dean nodded as he checked the temperature. The oven was right, so he slid the pie in and then straightened up to set the timer. “But what if she..”

Sam shook his head. “Nuh-uh,” he said firmly. “None of that. You’re awesome, and mom’s gonna love you. She already does. So whatever idea you have in that head of yours, just… chill. Go on out and chat. Mom wants to see you. It’s gonna be fine.”

Swallowing, Dean finally nodded. “If you say so, man,” he said. He headed for the door, and realized that Sam wasn’t coming out. “Hey… You comin’?”

“No, I’m gonna get this potato salad going. You go ahead and talk, and I'll be right here if you need me, okay?”

Dean wanted to pretend that he was totally fine going out to see Mary by himself, but if he were being honest with himself, he’d been counting on the buffer of Sam to keep the conversation flowing. Still, he was a grown man. He could do this! Even if he hated talking to doms as Dean. Pretty existed for a reason, after all. But Dean was Mary’s son, not Pretty, so Dean squared his shoulders and headed for the back deck.

Mary looked up as the door opened and she smiled, closing the grill. “Hi,” she said again, leaning back against the porch railing. 

“Hi,” Dean replied lamely. “So… Sorry about the freak out thing. I don’t… Do well with doms.”

Mary looked like she wanted to reach out, and then changed her mind, instead squeezing her knee. “No, Dean… If anyone should apologize, it’s _me_. I was young and stupid, but that’s really no excuse for letting that asshole steal one of my children. I should have known better. You _deserved_ better, and I’m so, so sorry I didn’t find you.”

Dean’s eyes were wide, and he shook his head. Wow. That wasn’t what he was expecting at all. He’d expected some sorrow, sure, some disappointment. But he hadn’t expected to hear her voice so… broken. “You couldn’t have known,” he said after a moment. “I mean, John, he’s… persuasive. I’m sure if he told you I was dead, he made it pretty convincing.” He paused as he saw Mary wince. “What?”

“It’s just… You call him _John_. What happened to ‘dad’?”

Dean swallowed. Well. That got right down to brass tacks, didn’t it? Well surely Sam had told her some of this, and it wasn’t going to come as a shock. “I Presented as a sub,” Dean said, just as boldly as she’d asked the question. Still, there was somewhat of a pleasant shock to hear her intake of breath, and the fact that her hands clenched into fists at her sides, while making him a little nervous, was reassuring.

“That pompous asshole,” she said, her voice hard and angry. “I just… I can’t even believe he would do something like that. Oh, Dean.” She looked up at him. “I’m so sorry.”

Dean swallowed. “You already apologized once,” he said, shaking his head. “You don’t need to do it again. Anyway, it wasn’t all bad. I mean, I’ve got a good job, a pretty sweet house, and I help John with research…”

Mary frowned. “Research?”

Shit. Right, she wouldn’t know. Or would she? Dean’s mind raced. He knew Grandpa Winchester had started them as monster hunters after he left the Men of Letters behind, but… How much would mom know? He really wasn’t sure. So he just nodded. “Yeah… He’s an investigator, but I’m better with the computer. I track stuff down for him.”

“I see.” Mary’s face had some emotion on it that Dean couldn’t name, but that didn’t bother him. Not really. “And do you ever help him in person?”

Dean shook his head. “Naw… He says that kind of work is too dangerous for subs. I offered, for a while, in high school, but now I just help with the computer part.”

Mary relaxed fractionally, though her eyes narrowed. “I still can’t believe I was married to such a misogynist. Dean…” This time she couldn’t help herself, and reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “Dean, there is _nothing_ you can’t do, certainly not just ‘because you’re a sub.’ That’s utter bullshit, and I hope you know that.”

Dean chuckled, a little uncomfortably. “Yeah… So Sam keeps telling me.” He shook his head. “I… It’s not that I disbelieve him, but… It’s not an easy mindset to break.”

Mary nodded, and let her hand slide down to Dean’s wrist. She studied their hands, his big one next to her smaller one, and sighed. “I understand.” She looked back up at his face. “Enough of that, then,” she said firmly. “Tell me about yourself. You’re a mechanic? And a good one, too, if the speed you changed my oil was any indication.”

Dean flushed. “Yeah, I guess. I mean. That’s what Mal tells me.” Once again he wished for Pretty, for the ability to accept a compliment like that, to acknowledge that he _was_ good at what he did. But instead he looked down at his hands, because it was much, much harder for _Dean_ to accept compliments. “I got my GED a couple years ago, and Mal, that’s my boss, he’s sending me to a certification program for a couple of the big manufacturers, because that makes us more marketable.”

Mary’s eyes were soft as she watched him, and Dean smiled a little as he felt her hand squeezing his. “I’m very proud of you,” she said, and Dean looked up, startled. How could she be proud of him? She didn’t even know him!

Mary seemed to know what he was thinking, because she continued. “You’ve done so well for yourself, Dean. You had a lot of challenges in your life, and you’ve overcome them. I know that living with John isn’t easy… No, I’ve lived it, Dean. You don’t have to sugarcoat it for me. But somehow you came out of that strong enough to make your own way, to make mistakes and learn from them, and to trust again. The fact that you’re here, eating dinner with me and Sam, shows me you’ve become a strong, intelligent, caring man, and I’m so proud of you.”

Dean’s throat was tight. He really didn’t know how to respond to that, actually, so he just looked away. “Uh… Thanks, I guess,” he managed. 

Mary’s answering chuckle was warm, but reminded him of Sam, as she reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “You’re welcome, Dean.” She stood up, and Dean felt himself breathing a breath of relief. It was time for her to flip the steaks, apparently, because she took a little while adjusting things over the heat. When Mary returned, Dean had gotten a little better control over himself.

“So… Sammy never mentioned that you’re a switch,’ he said, then instantly winced. _”Nice job, dumbass… Why can’t you ever keep your mouth shut?”_ Really bad form to ask about someone’s dynamic, he knew, but… He was curious.  
Luckily, Mary just smiled at him as she sat back down. “Yes, I am. Does it bother you?”

The honest answer threw Dean a little, though he really wasn’t sure why. He shrugged and leaned back against the porch rail, choosing his words carefully. “I guess I wasn’t really expecting it. John never really mentioned… That, and he’s such a… Dominant personality, I guess I assumed anyone who ended up with him would have been the opposite of that.” He really hadn’t talked to many switches, but he thought they couldn’t be _that_ different from doms. Who would purposely choose the shit that came with being a sub? If _any_ part of his personality called him to be a dom, he sure as hell would have forgotten the sub part instantly. The few attempts he’d made to that end had been bitter failures, though some of his sex with fellow subs had been _awesome_. Nothing like no expectations except mutual orgasms. 

Mary, for her part, looked a little sad. She shook her head. “No… But he wasn’t always like that. Before the war, he _liked_ that I stood up for myself, made decisions that challenged him…” She smiled. “More than that, that sometimes I took charge. But I was happy letting him make most of the choices. It wasn’t until after he came back from the war that things changed. Understand, Dean...He was a good man. He was. But that doesn’t mean that it’s okay, the way he changed. Distrust, accusations, overly controlling behavior…” 

Dean felt his face fold. Yeah, that sounded like the John he knew. “So why did you stay with him? Why didn’t you leave sooner?” _Why did you leave me with him_. The underlying question played at the back of his mind.

Mary sighed. “I hoped he would change. That somehow I’d be enough for him. But I wasn’t. When I decided to leave, my plan was to take you boys back to my parent’s house. I’m still not sure what happened that night, exactly, but… The fire was a little _too_ coincidental.” 

Dean knew, of course, that it was the demon that caught the room on fire. He’d always been told that, that they’d narrowly escaped, John carrying him out to the car in the dead of night at his own risk. Dean hadn’t known; he’d been passed out from the smoke and woke up the next morning in a hotel room with a pounding headache. They hadn’t talked about his mother again.

Mary continued, watching his face intently. “I went back for you. I was going to go back in the house. But John stopped me. Thinking back now, some of his best friends were on the fire truck that night. He told me you were dead, that they’d gone in to get you but the walls had collapsed in your room already.” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t want to believe him, but there were so many flames. And then he shook his head at me and said that I should take Sammy and go, he knew I was planning on it.” She rubbed at her eyes roughly. “So I did. There’s… There’s a gravestone for you, in the family plot in Kansas.” She smiled, although tears still shone in her eyes. “I guess we’ll have to take that down, huh.”

That startled a laugh out of Dean. “Uh. Yeah, that’d probably be good.” He rubbed his arms at the thought of a gravestone for baby...him, somewhere in Kansas, and thought that a strangely apt metaphor. A gravestone for the boy he would have been. That Dean Winchester _did_ die that night, and a part of him wondered how his life would have been if he’d gotten to grow up with Mary like Sam had. He didn’t let that thought linger long though, because he’d learned a long time ago that ‘what if’s’ didn’t hurt anyone but him.

“So,” he said, purposely turning the conversation to happier topics. “Karate, huh?” Mary’s smile as she nodded was like a balm to his soul. And even though the ‘dom’ cuff on her wrist still kind of freaked him out, Dean took a deep breath and forced himself to relax as she told him about her training. Dean Winchester, the first one, might have been dead in 1983 but _this_ Dean, the one who survived, was finally starting to believe he might deserve the life he seemed to be ending up with.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So I've begun the process of closing on my house. This means that a) I've been packing and cleaning like crazy, and b) I'm STILL packing and cleaning like crazy! BUT I'm still working on this, I'm still around. Thanks to everyone who still is here and reading this!
> 
> Thanks again to Lisa for all her help, betaing and support! If it weren't for her, I'd probably still be floundering with this chapter in a ditch somewhere.

Dean and Mary talked on the porch for a few more minutes, until the meat was done cooking. Dean couldn’t say he felt a lot more relaxed, but it was certainly better than he had been. When they went inside, Sam had already set the table and put out the potato salad and a green salad. Mary set the steaks on the table and went to wash her hands.

“Alright boys, let’s dig in.” Mary’s voice was jovial, and Dean couldn’t help but quirk a little smile. Mary was definitely not what he’d expected. 

He sat down at the little table as Sam slid in on his other side, Mary across from him. Mary dished out the steaks, and Sam scooped potato salad for everyone. Dean eyed the green salad a little warily, and Mary laughed. “I take it you’re not a greens fan, Dean?”

The young man shook his head, but took a little bit of it anyway. “I’m not a rabbit,” he said a tad morosely. Mary’s laugh didn’t hurt, and Dean was grateful. It was easy for people to be hurtful, mocking with their laughter, but Mary’s laugh didn’t seem like that. Maybe he was just hearing it through the filter of shock at her _being here, right now_ , but Mary’s laugh was welcome and musical, further breaking the tension of their odd little dinner.

Dean cut into his steak and took a big bite. He chewed thoughtfully and then looked up at Mary. “This is really good,” he said. He spoke respectfully, but made his appreciation known as quickly as possible. After all, the two doms had done pretty much all the cooking, and that made him a little bit nervous. He knew Mary wasn’t strictly a dom, but she definitely wasn’t strictly a sub either, and anyway, Dean had been doing all the cooking in the Winchester household since he was twelve, and old enough to use a hot plate. The very rare occasions John had cooked, when Dean was too sick or injured to do it, had warranted immediate and effusive praise of the effort, meager though it might be. Dean saw no reason not to continue now. And anyway, the steaks _were_ really good. He didn’t spring for steak very often, because it was a luxury and not a need, so when he had the chance like he did now, he definitely indulged.

Mary’s smile was warm in answer, though, and she nodded. “Thank you, Dean… I’ve always enjoyed grilling. Something about being outside, communing with nature.” She laughed again, and patted Dean’s arm. “But I’m glad you enjoy it.”

Sam was grinning at him from across the table, as though to say _see? Didn’t I tell you she was awesome?_ Thankfully, when the taller man opened his mouth, what he had to say had nothing to do with the food. “So… I was thinking. It _is_ family weekend… There’s some pretty awesome stuff going on on campus. I thought you guys might like to check some of it out?”

Dean was grateful for the change of topic, at first, because Mary responded for both of them. 

“Of course,” she said as she sliced her own steak. “What events are happening?” 

“There’s a comedy show tomorrow,” Sam said eagerly. “An improv group that’s gotten some really great reviews. And a fair thing; it’s meant for younger kids but I know they said there would be carnival games and stuff that even adults could like. I haven’t been to a fair for a long time.” He grinned, that infectious grin that Dean was starting to really love about his brother. Dean’s curiosity faded when Sam’s eyes turned to him. “And I remembered you mentioned how much you like classic cars, Dean, and there’s a car show on campus this weekend.”

Dean felt himself flush as Mary’s attention turned to him. “Oh, you like classic cars, Dean?”

Even though he could tell her question was innocent, it still struck a nerve. Dean nodded anyway. “Uh, yeah,” he agreed. “I’m a big fan.” He forced his smile to stay on his face. “That could be cool, Sammy, sure.”

Sam grinned more broadly. “Great! It’s tomorrow morning, nine until three, but we don’t have to stay the whole time. I thought it could be neat to go get lunch, walk around…” He trailed off, and Dean nodded again.

“Sure. That sounds good.”

Mary’s attention was piqued though. “So what do you drive, Dean?” She leaned forward a little, expectant. “I’m sure, based on what Sam’s told me, that it’s probably something you’ve restored yourself?”

Dean blinked. Damn. And then everything was back on him. Again. “Uh, no… I… I don't’ have a car right now.”

“Really? But, what do you do for transportation?” Mary seemed legitimately concerned, but Dean shrugged it off. Why would he be worried about it? John had told him for years that he didn’t actually need a car. Walking to and from work kept him in shape, just in case he had to defend himself, and the expense of it, for maintenance and gas and insurance, would really be counter productive overall. 

“I walk. My house is close enough to town it’s really not that far. Helps me keep in shape. If I have to go somewhere further, I catch the bus. There are _some_ perks to living in a college town.” He forced out a chuckle, hoping to divert the conversation a little more. “I’ve got my eye on one. I really want a Ford, a Mustang Shelby. They’re getting harder to find, but I’ve been saving for a while. When I find the right one…”

Sam jumped in, nodding as he reached for the potato salad again. “Well I know the ad said there were some people in the restoration business who were planning on being there… Maybe someone will have a lead for you?”

Dean nodded again. “Yeah, maybe.” He appreciated the thought, though he really didn’t have the heart to tell them he wasn’t actually looking very hard. He wasn’t lying, though. The Shelby was a _gorgeous_ car, and if he could own one he’d be a very happy dude. His hands practically itched to dig into the guts of a car like that, to clean out the rust and make her purr again.

Perhaps sensing the tone change, Mary changed the topic. Dean had expected to be the center of attention, and was glad they weren’t out in public. If they had been, he probably wouldn’t have been able to keep Pretty out of the conversation. He wasn’t sure he was ready for Mary to really know that distinction yet.

“So, Dean… How long have you lived in California?”

Dean paused, counting for a minute, before shrugging. “Uh, like, five years? I was eighteen when I moved up here… Kinda became home base for John.” Not that his father had physically been to see him for… three years, at last count. He wasn’t going to tell Mary that, though. She might be his mother, but she didn’t need to know family business.

“I… see.” Mary’s voice was careful, a hint of chill. Dean felt himself curling away from the censure she had in her voice. Mary seemed to catch that, because she hurried to change her tone. “No, that’s wonderful, Dean. So you started to work soon after you got here?” She seemed to have made an effort to make her tone more curious, less judgmental, and Dean relaxed a little.

“Yeah… I started working at the garage right away. It was good money, and Mal is a good guy.” He trailed off, looking back down at his plate.

Sam smiled encouragingly and nudged Dean’s foot with his own. “It must be pretty hard, working a second job, balancing everything. I mean, I barely manage TAing and homework, let alone two full jobs.”

Dean winced internally, seeing how Mary seemed to hone in on that. “You work two jobs, Dean? You’re really industrious, aren’t you?”

Dean offered a half shrug. “It fills the time,” he said weakly. “I worked as a waiter at the diner on third for a while, until I turned twenty one… Then I figured I’d make better tips as a bartender, so I started up at the bar, just some nights and weekends. Well, I took a couple classes first. Did you know they offer those?” 

Mary shook her head. “No, I didn’t know that.” Dean felt safer, talking about classes about booze. No one expected the kind of genius that Sammy had from someone who took lessons in serving alcohol. He leaned back a little in his chair. 

“Yeah, you can take them. I mean, beyond getting the permit to serve, you can learn about different drinks and matching flavors and shi...stuff. It’s pretty cool.” He felt himself flashing the ‘Pretty’ smile, but let it slide this time. The bar was Pretty’s domain, after all, and he was tired of feeling out of his element.

“That does sound interesting,” Mary agreed. “Perhaps you can show me a few things. I know the ladies at poker night would really like it if I could bring something other than a case of beer with me.”

Dean felt himself getting flustered, but he nodded. “Uh, yeah, sure. I’ll bring some stuff by tomorrow, maybe.” His smile had faded, but popped back up a little more genuinely as he tried to think what Mary might like to learn to make.

“That would be great,” Mary said, and though her voice wasn’t too enthusiastic, it was better than the chill she’d had when he mentioned being John’s home base. “So before California where did you live?”

Dean felt himself freezing up again, even though her voice was carefully neutral this time. He took a deep breath, then let it out again. _She’s just getting to know you, Dean,_ he reminded himself. _She doesn’t know about John’s jobs, or why you moved so much._ It wasn’t long before he had relaxed enough to speak, and he turned his attention to her more fully. “Oh, a little bit of everywhere. Mostly midwest and south, but we travelled a lot. More in the summer, really. I’ve seen most of the country by now.” He tried to play it up, make it sound like an adventure, instead of a constantly revolving set of schools, shitty one bedroom apartments, and cheap motel rooms. The look on her face said he hadn’t really succeeded, and Dean wished he could sink into his chair.

Dean was saved from the look of sorrow on Mary’s face by the sound of the buzzer going off on the oven. Dean nearly knocked his chair over in his hurry to stand up and get away. “Uh, I’ll get it, no worries,” he said quickly, as though he’d been planning on letting anyone else touch his pie. He fussed at the stove for a few moments, pulling the pie out of the oven with a pair of oven mitts that had been lying handily on the counter. He resisted the urge to poke the crust, a perfect golden brown, and instead just set the pie down to cool before turning back to the table.

Mary seemed to pick up on his tension, and turned her attention to Sam as Dean slid back into his chair. “How’s Jess doing, Sam? Is she still on track in pre-med?”

Sam nodded, though his foot moved over to rub Dean’s again reassuringly. “Yeah. She’s having a kind of rough semester. There are a couple dicks in her pre-med program, making her classes harder than they need to be. But she’s doing great, her sub’s rights group is really gaining momentum.”

“Oh, that’s great, Sam. I always knew she was a smart girl. I hope she’s free tomorrow to come to the car show with us? I never get to see enough of my future daughter-in-law.”

Sam laughed a little bit, nodding. “Yeah, she had some stuff tonight but she’s planning on being around tomorrow. Actually, she was hoping to be home in time for dessert tonight, so she should be home pretty soon.”

“Oh, good! I’m looking forward to it.” Dean knew it was coming but it still made him want to shrink into himself when Mary turned her attention back to him, a sort of fake cheer in her voice that made Dean want to squirm. “So, Dean, is there a girl in your life?” For the first time that evening, he wished fiercely that Cas were there. For all that they hadn’t really defined their relationship clearly yet, Cas made him feel safe. He’d opened up to Cas about things in a way that felt natural and right, and even though Mary meant well, she wasn’t Cas.

He looked down at the table, suddenly feeling fifteen again, that name new on his wrist. The phantom burn of the letters as they’d emerged, and the sickening realization when the implications of which wrist they were on finally struck him. And later, the fact that it was a _man’s_ name. That, by itself, was enough for John Winchester, who believed that men and women had their places, regardless of their orientation. Sam’s foot rubbing his got his attention, and he shot his brother a grateful, if still slightly panicked, look before he turned his eyes back to Mary. It was now or never time. If she couldn’t accept him then he didn’t want to waste more time. He’d had enough of parents rejecting him, thank you very much.

He swallowed hard, and gripped his cuff with his left hand, feeling the leather bite in over Cas’ name. “No, no girl,’ he said finally. “A guy, actually. His name is Cas.”

Mary’s eyes didn’t widen, but the smile became more genuine, and the fake cheer disappeared. “Oh, that’s wonderful, Dean,” she said her voice earnest now. “Is he local? I hope I’ll get to meet him one day.”

Before Dean could answer, the front door opened. Dean felt his heart begin to race as hope flared. A gruff voice rang out from the hallway. “I hope I am not interrupting something?” Cas. The other man’s voice had never been as welcome as it was right then. Footsteps down the hall heralded Cas’ arrival into the kitchen. He was splattered with paint, his trenchcoat left in the hall closet, and his hair was dishevelled, presumably from a long day in the studio. He’d never looked more perfect. 

Dean surprised himself by speaking first, the relief he felt by Cas’ presence pressing down the terror he’d been feeling just a few moments ago. “No, no way man.” He stood up, and despite feeling horribly shy, he headed toward his dom. He wasn’t usually given to public displays of affection, but he found that he really, _really_ needed a hug. “It’s good to see you, Cas,” he said, and didn’t see the look of surprise on Mary’s face, or the brief matching one on Cas’ before it melted into affection.

“It is good to see you, as well, Dean,” he said, hugging tightly. A breath, then another. Dean finally felt himself relaxing, just a little bit. Cas smelled like paint, and dust, and Axe body spray, and Dean felt himself chuckling at the _normalcy_ of it. 

He let go of Cas after a long moment and pulled away, but dropped his hand down to grip Cas’ as he turned to Mary. “Mom? This is my boyfriend, Cas.”

He was distantly aware of the surprise in Castiel’s posture as the other man registered the phrase Dean had used. They’d never actually put it out so plainly before, but it felt right. If he was going to make this work, and _God_ he wanted to make this work, then he was going to have to own it. Dean recognized that. That didn’t make it less terrifying. He felt Cas squeeze his hand and an involuntary smile touched his lips. That’s right; he wasn’t in this alone. 

But Mary didn’t respond badly. Part of Dean had known she wouldn’t. She had been much too accepting of the ‘male’ part of his confession. Still, Dean couldn’t help but feel nervous about the fact that he’d just declared openly that he thought this was an exclusive relationship. Given their fight, if that was what it was, Dean wasn’t sure how Cas would react, and how Mary would react to the fact that he was dating Sam’s roommate. She’d almost certainly known Cas longer than Dean himself had, after all.

Mary’s smile grew even brighter, though, and she stood up from the table. She hugged Dean first, and then Cas. “Welcome to the family, Castiel,” she said warmly. Her smile to Dean was a little more open, and at her warm reception Dean felt himself relax again. He was down to the ‘normal’ parts of himself that he had to hide. Things like hunting, and monsters, those were easy. It was so exhausting to hide the rest.

Cas drew Dean back to the table, settling into the chair next to him with a deep appreciative sniff. “Do I smell apple pie?”

“Dean made it,” Sam volunteered without hesitation. “And man, if it tastes as good as it smells, he’s getting put in charge of desserts for like, ever.” 

Dean flushed and looked down at the table. The guys at the garage always seemed to enjoy when he brought in pies, so Dean wasn’t going to comment one way or another. It wasn’t in his nature to draw attention to his successes, and that included things like baking pies.

Castiel squeezed Dean’s hand. “I look forward to tasting, it, Dean,” he said earnestly. The squeeze was more reassuring than the words, and Dean forced himself to relax. It was going to be alright. 

“I’m going to start on the dishes while we wait for Jess,” Sam announced, standing up. Mary stood up with him, smiling. 

“I’ll help,” she said. She gave Dean an exaggerated wink, and he knew that was meant to be encouragement, though he really wasn’t sure what for. 

Cas seemed to read her, though, because he smiled broadly. “Would you like to go for a short walk with me, Dean? It seems that Sam and Mary have the kitchen well in hand.” 

Dean faltered for a minute, but he had to admit that he was really, _really_ starting to get worn out. It had been an emotional rollercoaster, and the part of him that had been longing for Cas was coming back in full swing. He nodded and stood up. ‘That sounds good… If you’re sure you don’t need our help?”

Mary shook her head. “No, no, go! We’ll be fine. When you come back we’ll cut this amazing pie you made, Dean.” She smiled and made a shooing gesture, and Dean flushed, ducking his head a little. 

“Okay, sounds good. Uh. Thanks.” He and Cas wandered down the hall as Sam started to run water. They paused by the doorway so Cas could put his shoes on, and they both grabbed their coats from the closet. Cas didn’t waste time before he wrapped his arm around Dean’s waist, hugging him closer in the chill of the evening.

“Good evening, Pretty,” he said, and Dean felt himself relax even further, letting Cas take a little more of his weight as they moved onto the shadowed sidewalk. 

“Hey, Angel,’ he said, a smile sliding on his lips. “I… Hey, listen. I’m sorry about, y’know, springing that on you, dude. I know we didn't talk about it. I understand if you don't... if you're not ready for..."

“Shh…” The admonition was gently given, so soft Dean almost missed it. He flushed, ducking his head again, until Cas tipped his face up with a hand. “Pretty, I was thrilled to be introduced as your boyfriend. You honor me greatly.” He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Dean’s lips, and Dean opened to it willingly. For all that they hadn’t shared many kisses, each one seemed to be perfect for the moment it was in. The gentle press of lips on his own, and the strong arms wrapping around his shoulders, bracketing him in and steadying him, the sensations were almost overwhelming. When Cas broke the kiss, Dean dropped his head to the trenchcoated shoulder, panting softly. 

“You always know just what to say,” Dean managed, dryly, and was rewarded by a chuckle from his dom.

“You have a way with words, yourself,” came the reply. Then Cas was urging him on down the street, at a leisurely pace. They weren’t trying to get anywhere in particular, just to be together. Dean loved this about Cas, how they could just _be_ , and it felt like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: A brief interlude with Dean and Cas! And maybe more kisses. :-P


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well everyone... I closed on my house today!!! I'm officially a homeowner!
> 
> As a bit of a celebration (and also partly because I know AT LEAST the next month is going to be consumed with moving... ugh...) Here's a short and fluffy little interlude with Dean and Cas. I hope to have a full length chapter up sometime soon but here's something to tide you all over. It's short, saccharine sweet, and practically guaranteed to give you diabetes. :-P
> 
> Thanks so much for all your support! 
> 
> Dare

They walked in silence for a little while, just enjoying the night and each other’s company. Dean relished the lack of expectation, and wasn’t eager to break the silence. Still, after a few minutes, the itch was back; the same one that came to him at night, when he wanted someone to hold him and tell him that he was a ‘good boy’. He loved Cas’ voice. Knowing what his dom sounded like was enough to settle him now. Cas’ imagined voice had gotten him through so much over the years that having the real thing? That elevated him to Godhood, practically. He’d listen to Cas read the phonebook, and damn, didn’t _that_ make him a sap?

“So… What were you doing tonight, getting yourself all painted up?”

Cas’ dry chuckle was just as welcome as the words that followed, and Dean leaned on him again as they walked, height difference not withstanding. “I had a few projects this evening. I am working on a landscape for class.” His tone made it clear what he thought of that particular assignment. “The perspective is most challenging. And I have a… sale coming up, in a few weeks. I am attempting to paint a few more pieces before I go, so that I can earn some more spending money before Christmas.” 

“Oh… cool.” Dean squeezed Cas’ hand while they walked, savoring the calloused fingers in his own. “I forgot that it’s like, October already...” Truthfully, Dean rarely cared about Christmas. Until Mal had drawn him out of his shell, Dean hadn’t exchanged gifts since he was very, very small. Even now, Dean gave a gift to Mal and Sue, and generally baked something for the guys at the garage. His stomach gave a not entirely unwelcome twist when he realized that this year would probably be different.

Cas chuckled and shook his head. “Indeed. Time has a way of getting away if you are not paying attention.” He smiled, and gave a gentle tug on the hand he held, bumping Dean’s shoulder with his own. “I have missed you, Dean,” he said, looking over at the taller man. “I… hope I have not caused you to doubt my intentions with my silence, but I wished to give you your space.”

Something warm bloomed in Dean’s chest; it still baffled him how concerned about him Cas was, all of the time. “No, man… Hey, did you miss the part where I introduced you as my boyfriend?” He chuckled. “I kind of appreciated the time to get my head on straight, honestly.” He shook his head and squeezed Cas’ hand. “But I’ve missed you, too.”

They walked in silence for a little while before Dean turned to him again. “So how do you sell your paintings?” Presumably if Cas used it for extra cash, he had to have a reliable way to sell them.  
It took a moment for Cas to answer, his attention having wandered and the sudden change of topic being a little confusing. “I go to craft shows, mostly, and art festivals. If you know where to look, there are many at this time of year. I bring my still life works, and also I do caricatures.” He made a face. “Not my favorite type of art, but it is fast and generally brings in a fair amount of return.”

Dean chuckled. “That sounds cool. And I’m sure you’re awesome at it, even if it’s not your favorite.” Of course, he hadn’t seen _any_ of Cas’ art yet, he realized with a start. “You’ll have to show me some of your stuff,” he said, resolving to rectify that lack as soon as possible.

Castiel nodded, a smile teasing at his lips. “Of course, Dean,” he agreed. His smile grew a bit lascivious, and he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I’d love to take you to my room and show you my “etchings.”

His sly tone of voice and lewd gesture caught Dean off guard, and the young man burst out laughing. It took a moment, but Cas started to laugh too. They laughed longer than was probably appropriate, the tension of the evening finally easing out. Dean finally stopped laughing, wheezing instead as he dropped his head onto Cas’ shoulder. Tears streamed from his eyes, but they were certainly not tears of sorrow. “Hah,” he panted, shaking his head. “Man, you’re… Thanks. I needed that.”

Cas was still smiling as well, reaching to brush the tear from the corner of Dean’s eye. “You are most welcome,” he said encouragingly. “Do you feel better?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah… Yeah I do.” It was kind of surprising, actually, but he felt so much better. “Maybe there is something to this soulmate stuff,” he said, though he still wasn’t quite sold on that idea. Cas, though, his smile softened and Dean felt his heart flutter in response.

“I most certainly hope so, Dean,” he said, and leaned down to press their lips together softly once more. Dean melted against him. Now that he _had_ Cas, now that they’d put it out in the open and Dean knew that he wasn’t going to be dropped at a moment’s notice, Dean couldn’t quite get enough of the other man’s touches. A few more minutes of kissing, and then a car roared down the street past them, and Dean pulled back, flushing.

Castiel chuckled, but shook his head. “Perhaps this is not the best venue for exploring these things,” he offered.

Dean swallowed hard, the blush visible on his face even in the meager glow of the streetlight. “No, probably not,” he agreed. “But… Let’s table this discussion, come back to it.”

Cas’ smile was broad, and he tugged on Dean’s hand, pulling him close again. “I am amenable to that,” he said, wrapping his arm around Dean’s waist. “For the moment, how do you feel about going back for that pie?”

That startled a laugh out of Dean, and he shook his head a little. “Pie sounds great,” he said, grinning. “Lead on, good sir.”

Cas pressed a kiss to Dean’s forehead and drew Dean down the street, back toward the apartment, and everything it represented. “As you wish,” he said teasingly.

“I do, Angel,” he said, surprising himself a little bit. “I really do.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaack!!! :)
> 
> I finally have internet again! Yaayyy! Thank you all so so much for your kind words, your encouragement and your patience while I get my life sorted out!
> 
> Here's a chapter. It was fighting tooth and nail (and I have about 1000 words of the next chapter written because they just didn't FLOW right with this one. ) I hope you enjoy it!!

When the door closed on the two young men, Mary turned to Sam and took a shaky breath. “That wasn’t what I expected,” she said slowly. “I mean, I’m not sure _what_ I expected, exactly, but it wasn’t that.”

Sam looked up from where he’d started running the water, nodding. “I know,” he said. “I can’t really believe it either. I mean, you hear about people who talk like that, think like that, but for Dean to _grow up_ with it… I still don’t really know what to do with it, either.”

Mary sighed, beginning to ferry the dishes from the table to the counter top so Sam could start to wash. “What I _want_ to do is track John down and kick his ass,” she said, her voice cold and annoyed. 

Sam chuckled. “Yeah… I don’t think Dean would appreciate that as much as we would, though.” He shook his head. “Seriously though… Dean’s had a really rough time. I really… I hope I can convince him we really do want him around.” He smiled. “I’m gonna start inviting him to game night, even if that might blow his mind.”

Mary smiled. Sam _had_ always been protective of those less fortunate, his whole life. “Are you certain that your friends won’t mind?” It was a silly question, honestly. Sam didn’t make friends who were bigoted, or prone to rudeness. He never had. 

He arched an eyebrow at her over a soapy plate. “Really? I think Jess and the gang would love having another person to gang up on me with.” He grinned. “It’s gonna be good,” he said, nodding. “Our next one is next Tuesday, and I don’t think he works the bar every week night, so I’m gonna see if he wants to come over.”

“That sounds great, honey,” Mary said, nodding. “I’m really glad you’re here. He’s going to need a lot of support, and you’re definitely the man for the job.” She squeezed his wrist before taking the plate to dry it and put it away. 

Sam nodded. “I hope so. John really did a number on him.” He turned his eyes to the dish he was scrubbing. “I really don’t want to know. But I think I need to know, about John. I mean, Dean grew up with him, without any buffer. I think I need to know what I’ll be dealing with. Because Dean? He doesn’t see that the guy did anything wrong, and that makes me sick. But that doesn’t mean that there isn’t stuff I should know.”

Mary nodded. Sometimes she cursed that she had raised her son to be a man who didn’t pull his punches. He hadn’t learned much about John growing up, because the man’s name was practically a dirty word. But now he needed to know, and Mary would tell him, for the sake of her other child. The child she’d thought was lost. “It’s hard to know where to start,” she said honestly. “It’s not even fair to say that I should start at the beginning, because it’s not even easy to start there.”

Sam passed her another dish, waiting patiently. He would make a good lawyer, she thought, because he was very good at letting people find their words on their own time. “When I met John he was… Sweet. And a little bit of a hunter’s rebellion. John was my high school sweetheart, and a real charmer. He didn’t talk about monsters, or ghosts, or devil’s traps.” She shrugged as she went to put the plate away. “It was a refreshing change.”

Sam nodded; he understood how sometimes the hunting seemed to overtake everything else, even Jess, even law school prep. It could be exhausting. He knew enough to keep his mouth shut because when Mary told a story, she didn’t like to be interrupted. 

Mary continued as she opened a cabinet. “Well, John and I got along fine, for a while. I think I liked him because of how angry he made your grandfather. I was tired, Sam. Tired of the 'Family Business', of hiding so much. I wanted out, and he was my ticket. The only price was my past, and I didn't think that was much of a sacrifice. So we left.” She sighed as she set another dish in the cabinet. “I didn't talk to my parents for a long time. Until Dean was born.” She smiled here, a little wistful. “He mended a lot of fences, our Dean.”

Sam had to smile as well. The photos he'd seen of Dean, ones his grandparents had before the fire that had taken the rest of the Winchester family photo albums, were of a happy, affectionate baby. A baby that was well on his way to a promising life. His heart broke a little once again for the-boy-who-wasn't. The Dean of today was a far cry from who the little boy who wore an “I wuv hugs' shirt should have grown into.

“So what changed?” The life his mother was describing sounded almost idyllic. Like she should have gotten exactly what she wanted. Not that Sam was any stranger to life changing, but it didn't seem like there was any reason that things had changed so much.

“Well... It changed before Dean,” she said reluctantly. “We started dating right before he joined the marines, and your grandfather didn't want me to keep seeing him. He wanted me to go with another Hunter, keep it in the family. But I wrote to him while he was in Vietnam, and when he came back, we got married right away. I didn't want to give your grandfather any kind of reason to get between us. When it was just John and I, things were good. We spent three years together, and if John was a little snappier, wanted me to be a little more submissive, well, I put it down to his time on the front lines. It wasn’t until Dean was born that he _really_ changed. At first, I even thought _that_ was a good thing. He loved your brother, Sam. He’d come home from work and the first thing he’d do would be to go up to the nursery, carry Dean around with him…” She smiled a little wistfully. “Daddy and his little man.” She shook her head. “But he got less and less attentive, more secretive. It felt like when I was young, and my parents hid what they did from me. I didn’t like it, but when I pushed to know more, his temper flared up. The two of us… We were good with each other in the worst of ways.”

Sam’s attention was riveted. Mary had never talked about John this openly before. It was a picture of his mother he hadn’t seen and it was… very interesting. He still wasn’t sure what to do with this information, but he liked it. 

“I gave up trying to figure him out. By the time I was pregnant with you, his mood swings were impossible to predict. He drank more, and he was jumpier and so easily agitated, but then… There were nights he’d come home from work, and rub my feet, and play with Dean in the living room and it seemed like everything was going to be okay. He would be so apologetic on those nights, so sweet and perfect. Other nights I couldn’t even look at him. After his father died, it was even worse. He’d go on business trips for days on end, and spent most of his evenings at the legacy club where his father was a member. I don’t even remember meeting your grandfather more than a handful of times, but his death hit John hard.”

Mary put the last of the plates while Sam started to scrub the serving platter. “John’s comments got worse, about the time you were born. He would talk about the secretary at the garage, how she needed to be ‘put in her place’, or how Tony at the club “needed a good dom to keep him in line.” I really couldn’t stand him any longer. I asked your grandparents and they said that we could come and stay with them. Honestly, I think they were happy I was finally making the decision they’d wanted all along. I started to sock money away every week after I did the shopping. I figured I’d wait him out until we were ready to go; I wanted at least a year if I could. He wasn’t physically abusive, and I could tune him out when he was talking. Still… I guess a Hunter’s instincts never really go away. I kept a bag packed, and the money in my car. He never used my car, and that was as safe a place as any to keep it. Six months after you were born, the demon came. I don’t know which one it was, or what it possibly could have wanted with our house, but no matter what your grandparents think, the smell of sulfur was _everywhere_ , especially in your nursery. John passed you to me at the top of the steps, told me to get you out and to go to the neighbors to call the fire department. By the time I got back, Dean was gone. Well that’s what John said, at least.”

Mary’s voice was bitter now, as the realization of what she’d lost hit her again. Sam frowned. For once, his grandparent’s theory that John had set the fire didn’t seem wholly ridiculous. It made a lot more sense for John to have set the fire to get rid of Mary, and from what Dean had said, John had thought his older son more valuable. Put together with Mary’s story, it was clear that John had expected his eldest son to be a dom like himself. “So that’s when we moved in with grandma and grandpa?”

Mary nodded as she slipped the serving tongs back in their drawer. “Mmhm. And I foolishly thought that was the last I’d have to deal with John Winchester. I changed our names to Campbell and didn’t look back.”

Sam ruminated on that for a minute. So Mary had, he realized, been conned into taking Sam and leaving. It was the only thing that made sense. John had seen the writing on the wall, and had made the decision before Mary could make it for him. Sam didn’t know why the smell of sulfur would have been in the air, but Dean had made it sound like John was a pretty smart guy. Maybe he’d picked up some kind of sulfur based propellant or something. In any case, it was far too coincidental that John’s friends were the ones to answer the call, to declare Dean a lost cause, to agree with John on everything he said. And since Mary had been at the neighbors calling the department, she would have missed seeing John carrying one small boy out of the house. 

Before he could say as much, the front door opened and two pairs of feet heralded Dean and Cas returning. Dean looked much more relaxed when they walked through the door, and Cas held his hand lightly to provide support without being constricting. Sam turned away so Dean wouldn't see the approving smile on his face. 

“Hello boys,” Mary said as she hung up the dish rag. “Have a nice walk?”

Dean nodded and reached over to the table to pull out a chair for Cas. “Uh, yeah, it was really good,” he said tentatively. Dean released Cas’ hand and headed to the counter. “We were thinking it was a good time for pie. You don’t happen to have any ice cream, do you Sammy?”

The young man was briefly caught off guard by the request. It was the first time Sam could recall Dean asking for something tangible. “Uhh, let me look.” He headed for the small freezer and was rewarded by a quart of “Vanilla Bean Magic”. “Will this do, Dean?” He held it up for Dean’s appraisal, and smiled as the older man nodded.

“That’s perfect, dude,” Dean said approvingly. “Apple pie without ice cream is like, a sacrilege or something. I’d have brought some if I’d decided to make pie more than half an hour ahead of time.”

Sam chuckled as he set the ice cream on the counter to soften. ‘Hey, it’s all good man. I mean, free pie? I’m not gonna complain at having to provide the ‘ala mode’.”

Dean’s grin grew a little more self-conscious as Sam praised the as-yet-uneaten pie, but Sam wasn’t gonna let him hide. “The plates are in the cupboard by your head. Go ahead and pull ‘em out if you’re ready for pie. Jess’ll be home any minute and we’ll get her some then.”

Dean obediently turned and pulled out five plates. Mary rummaged through drawers with an exasperated sigh until she found an ice cream scoop and pie server. “I can’t believe Jess lets you get away with this,” she said reprovingly. Just then, the front door closed and Jess’ voice sounded from the hall.

“What am I letting him get away with now?”

Sam felt himself flush as his soulmate rounded the corner. She looked a little disheveled, Sam distantly remembered they had been making signs at her rally meeting. She’d probably had her hair pulled back in a bandana or something. Whatever the case, he thought she looked beautiful. As always. He pulled back from his musings when Mary turned teasingly to Jess.

“Jess,, Jess, Jess… My lovely future-daughter-in-law… You’re going to need to keep a _much_ tighter rein on my son if you intend to have a livable house. How do you ever find anything?”

Jess laughed, shaking her head. Sam could listen to her laugh all day. He flushed deeper when he realized he was still staring, and purposely looked away. “I just make him find things,” she said, teasing right back as she crossed the room to Sam’s side. He loved how soft she felt pressed against him, small and fragile. Something to be protected. Especially since he knew she was tough as nails underneath. He didn’t try to stop himself from kissing the smile dancing on her lips as she leaned up to him teasingly. 

“Hello, lover,” she said, her voice low and sultry. Not _quite_ crossing the boundaries of propriety they’d discussed before, though, so he wouldn’t have to reprimand her later. Damn. 

“Hello, princess,” he replied in kind, before pulling away a little, mindful of their audience. Mary only seemed amused, but Dean appeared just a little uncomfortable watching them. “How was your meeting?”

“Oh, so so. Got some signs made, but Kevin and Di got hassled on the way in. We had to call security, you know how that goes.”

Sam winced on her behalf. “Yeah, I do.” Fighting that no, they hadn’t done anything to provoke it, and yes, they _did_ want the assholes taken in, thank you very much… Jess had told him lots of stories, though he tried not to get too involved, for her sake. He knew she liked to fight her own battles. “Well, I know what’ll cheer you up. Dean made apple pie, _from scratch_ , and we have vanilla ice cream. Interested?”

Jess’ grin lit up her face. Sam loved that grin, loved her unbridled enthusiasm for the world. Even now, despite seeing each other every day, she never failed to take his breath away.

“Sounds awesome,” she agreed. “I just need to go wash up a little and I’ll be right out.” Sam released her reluctantly, watching her go with unabashed interest. She _was_ his girlfriend, after all.

Mary’s grin was broad when he finally looked back from the hallway. “Do I hear some wedding bells, baby boy?” She teased. “You know grandma and grandpa would be very disappointed if they got great grandbabies before they got a granddaughter-in-law.”  
Sam hadn’t realized he could still blush that much. “Mom! You know I know better than that! And we are very careful. Anyway, we don’t want to get married until I’m done with law school. That way I can work and Jess can focus on med school.”

Mary’s heartfelt sigh was a familiar part of the banter. “I suppose,” she said, with the smile on her face that said she agreed with his logic. “Darn those level-headed Campbell genes.” The subject dropped for the moment, she went to scoop ice cream for the pie as Dean cut it, and Sam went to the fridge. HE wasn’t sure if beer and pie really went together, but figured that with this crowd, it couldn’t hurt. By the time Jess came back out, Cas, unwilling to sit while everyone else did the work, had gotten the silverware and napkins, Dean and Mary the pie, and Sam had five beers opened. Mary gave another long sigh as she rounded the corner to the table. “Samuel Campbell, were you raised in a barn?”

Sam looked at her in confusion, only to have _another_ embarrassed flush rise on his skin as she continued. “Is there a _reason_ we are drinking beer instead of coffee with our apple pie?”

Jess laughed outright at that. “I’m not sure he knows how to use the coffee pot, momma Mary. If Cas or I don’t make it, I think he’d buy all his coffee from the little cafe on campus.”

Sam let out an indignant snort. “Hey! I happen to like their coffee! I do too know how to use the coffee pot. You and Cas are just unnatural early birds who _like_ getting up with the sun, thus saving me from doing it myself when I’m up at a much more reasonable hour.” He puffed himself up a little, but wasn’t able to stop his grin. He _could_ use the coffee pot, but since everyone declared him useless at brewing a decent cup, he just didn’t bother anymore. Still that explained why the beer-and-pie combo sounded so odd.

Dean slid into the seat next to Cas and Sam could tell they were holding hands again under the table. Good. Dean deserved as much affection as he could get. “I don’t mind pie and beer,” he said, tentative, as though he didn’t know if he wanted to get in the middle of Sam and Mary’s banter. Sam grinned. 

“See? Dean’s on my side.”

Dean flushed cherry red and ducked his head. Jess took the first bite of pie and her moan interrupted the rest of the conversation. “Oh. My. God. Dean, where did you get the recipe for this pie? It’s _amazing_.” 

Sam grinned, because now Dean’s blush went all the way to the tips of his ears. “Well, when I was twelve, we went to this diner in Arkansas, with this amazing pie.” He explained it a little hesitantly, like he’d made a conscious decision to share more when he was on his walk with Cas. Hell, maybe he had. “I talked the cook into giving me the recipe, since we weren’t local. From then on, I picked up recipes wherever I could, mostly from restaurants. I don’t really cook much, but, ah, I really like baking. This one,” he gestured at the pie, “is my own recipe. It’s like, all my favorite bits from my favorite pies.”

Cas was the one to break the silence after this revelation, a smile broad on his face. “Dea, you never cease to amaze me with yet further evidence of your versatility.”

Sam felt his grin broaden as Dean squirmed in his chair. Clearly his brother didn’t see his total awesomeness as everyone around him did. Thank goodness for Cas and his beautifully blunt way of speaking. 

Dean shrugged a little, eyes on his plate. “Well, I just kinda… picked it up as I went along. John said pie was a luxury, so if I wanted it I had to figure out how to make it myself, for cheap. I did most of the cooking anyway, so I just experimented any time we had a place with a real kitchen.” Sam’s heart broke a little at that. Of course it came down to John denying Dean something. No, pie wasn’t a necessity, but it seemed from the little that Dean had shared, Dean’s wants fell by the wayside all too often while John Winchester had gone gallivanting all over the country. He’d dragged his kid with him from school to school, town to town. It didn’t even sound like they’d had an actual apartment most of the time! Sam didn’t even really know what John did; ‘private investigator’ was actually a pretty vague title. Dean had always felt insecure and unimportant, if his stories were even half true. It made Sam’s stomach twist unpleasantly. From what he’d learned tonight, Sam could hardly believe he was related to John Winchester, and decided then and there to be as _unlike_ the older man as possible. 

Mary looked up from her own pie with a smile. “So, Dean, you’ve lived all over then?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. I mean, we moved a lot. John kept busy, so we didn’t stay in one place too long. I spent a couple summers in Minnesota with Uncle Jim, and a couple more with Uncle Bobby in South Dakota, until I was big enough to help out. Mostly we’d do half a year here, half a year there, unless something really urgent came up. I wasn’t ever too far behind, though. John made sure I studied while we drove.” He said it all matter-of-factly, like that was perfectly normal. A surreptitious glance under the table and he could see how tightly Dean clenched Cas’ hand. It was a wonder he hadn’t broken bones yet. Not so blase, then, after all. Somehow, that reassured Sam, to know that Dean didn’t take the screwed up nature of John Winchester as How It Should Be. 

Mary didn’t seem to know when to stop pushing, though, much to Sam’s chagrin. “Where were you when you presented?” She asked, as though it was any kind of coffee table talk, and Sam winced internally. Dean _had_ to be tired of being the center of attention if his grip on Cas’ hand was any indication. 

Dean just shrugged good naturedly, though Sam could see the hints of tension on his face. “Texas, deep South.” Then he grinned again, a grin Sam was coming to recognize as his ‘I’m just a pretty face’ mask. Bullshit, but effective. To keep Dean from totally shutting down, Sam stepped in to turn the conversation aside.

“So, Jess, how are the rally plans coming along? Pretty good?” His sub, bless her heart, caught on immediately and stepped up to the plate to take the heat off Dean for a while. 

“Oh yeah, they’re great. We’ve got like seventy people signed up for the rally. If we get half that to actually show I’ll be pretty happy.”

Sam took a bite of his pie, a little less awesome now given the stress levels in the room, and nodded. “Cool. You guys are doing such awesome work, seriously.”

Dean seemed to relax as soon as the attention was off of him, and he turned to work on his pie and beer. It gave Sam a twinge to see him eating with his left hand, unwilling to release his grip on Cas to make it easier. In other circumstances it would probably be pretty cute, but right now he knew it was as much anxiety as anything else. Jess’ smile reassured Sam, though. She knew what he was doing, and approved, and was clearly going to help. He felt another rush of love for his sub, so grateful for her delicate touch in situations like this.

Mary seemed to have other plans, though, apparently determined to draw Dean back into the conversation. She either was ignoring or was oblivious to the looks Sam was shooting her. Maybe all the talk about John earlier had riled her up, because she really was upset. 

“Did you join any groups like that in school, Dean?” Sam winced faintly as Dean ducked his head again. 

“No, ma’am,” he said, staring at his pie. Ma’am. Shit. Dean was falling back into that sub role he’d been in when Sam first met him at the garage. Here, in his kitchen? It made Sam’s skin crawl. “I didn’t get involved with extracurriculars much.” That answer didn’t seem to satisfy Mary, who frowned.

“No sports? Theatre? Nothing?”

Deans hook his head mutely, so Sam stepped in again. “I was in the production of South Pacific my freshman year of high school.” He offered it blindly, scrabbling to follow the threads of conversation and draw it away from Dean again. “And Our Town Sophomore year. After that I was too busy with debate, law club and mock trial to do the plays.”

Mary nodded. “On top of your advanced placement classes, too.” Sam winced again as Dean seemed to pull even further on himself. He hadn’t wanted to toot his own horn, just draw the attention off Dean. For as smart as his mother could be, she didn’t seem to be displaying any of her considerable people skills now. Sam had _never_ known her to be this ham fisted with any of the victims they worked with. 

As Sam watched, Dean scraped the last of the pie from his plate, trying to clean every last crumb, before he stood up. His hand dangled next to his side, red lines obvious where Cas had held back just as tightly as Dean had been clutching. “That’s real cool, Sammy,” Dean said with a brittle grin on his face. “Uh, listen, thanks for dinner and all, but I’m beat. I think I’m gonna call it a night. We’re still on for the car show?”

Mary finally had a look of concern on her face. _About time,_ Sam thought a touch bitterly. Maybe at the car show she’d have learned her lesson and might keep her mouth a little more under control. They just didn't know Dean well enough to tackle such heavy topics. To Dean, though, he just nodded, grinning warmly. “Sure thing,” he agreed. “You want a ride?” He watched as Dean cut his eyes at Cas, but before he could open his mouth to say no, Cas was pushing back from the table. “I will take you, if you are amenable?” He reached for Dean’s hand again, and Dean nodded.

“Uh, thanks Sammy, but I guess Cas has it covered. “He grinned that killer grin again, and turned toward the door. “Night, everybody. Good to see you again, Jess. Uh… Nice to meet you, mom.” Then he was gone, before Mary could even stand up to give him a hug.

Mary waited until she heard the front door close before she sighed. “I handled that… poorly, didn’t I?”

Sam shrugged. “Coulda been better.” He wasn’t in the habit of outright lying to his mother, after all. “But he didn’t flee screaming, so you’ve still got a shot.”

Mary slumped a little, and pushed her plate at Sam. “Get your mother another piece of pie. And a beer.”

Sam grinned as he stood. “Yes ma’am,” he agreed, snagging his own plate for a second piece. It was _really_ good pie, and he had a feeling it was going to be a long night.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This has been a pain. PAAAIN. Once again, thank you all for your patience and all your support. It means a lot! :) Thanks to Lisa for betaing and general cheer leading. :) She has worked super hard making me make this chapter way better than it was. Any remaining mistakes are mine. I hope this chapter makes you all smile.
> 
> Dare

Dean slid into the passenger seat of Cas’ car and curled himself toward the door as soon as it closed. He hunched his shoulders as he tried to press into the space between the door and the seat: he was mostly unsuccessful but it felt good to have his back to the wall, metaphorically speaking at least. 

Cas followed Dean into the car, furrowing his brow in concern when he saw how Dean was curled against himself. It hurt his heart. Dean was was one of the bravest men that he knew, and to see him looking so closed off and vulnerable felt _wrong_. Dean frowned, preparing to speak, but Cas reached out to squeeze his knee, to forestall him. “You were very brave in there tonight, Dean,” he said firmly. “You shared much of yourself. I am very proud of you.” 

Dean couldn’t help but think there was something significant about Cas not using ‘Pretty’, but he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to follow that train of thought. Instead, he just stared at his knees. He really didn’t have a reply, anyway. Cas waited for a moment, but when nothing was forthcoming, he started the car.

As he pulled out, though, Dean found his voice. “I really don’ wanna be alone yet,” he confessed. Cas didn’t show any startlement at that statement. He smiled, and nodded.

“I believe I know somewhere we could go to be alone together? It is a little bit of a drive, however.” He offered it lightly, and Dean let himself be drawn into the slightly teasing tone. He needed to be away from the expectations he’d felt at Sam’s house. So Dean took a deep breath, and smiled. 

“Sure, sounds great.” They drove in silence, not even the radio between them, out of town. Dean rarely left town, since it was such a hassle without a car. As a consequence, he didn’t really know where they were going. He was putting his trust in Cas to get him somewhere safe, and somehow, instead of ratcheting his tension up, he felt it easing away with every mile they put between them and Sam’s.

Cas slid a look at Dean. The ride was more strained than he'd like, but at least he was getting to spend more time with Dean. Maybe he could get him to relax. They sat together, Cas focused on driving and neither one of them feeling the need to speak. Cas occasionally shot him a concerned look, but kept any commentary to himself. Dean appreciated the chance to just _not_ think. Cas’ hand didn’t leave Dean’s knee until they pulled in at a small park, and Dean relished the solid warmth, anchoring him as his thoughts spiraled over the events of the evening. The further they got from the city center, though, the less Dean focused on the evening and the more his attention centered on the firm grip on his kneecap. By the time Cas cut the engine and the headlights shut off, Dean felt much more relaxed and when Cas looked over Dean had to smile at the concern in his dom’s blue eyes. 

“This is the first place I found when I moved here where I could see the stars,” Cas explained as he took off his seatbelt. “Well, a little anyway. It is better than nothing. Often I come here when I need a little break from the city. Or if I need inspiration. I thought perhaps you would like to be away from the hustle and bustle for a while.” 

Cas reached out and squeezed Dean’s shoulder as he settled back in his seat for a moment. Then he opened the door. “Come, Pretty… Let us go outside to sit and watch the stars.” He climbed out and went around the back, pulling two blankets from the trunk. Even with their coats, the night was a bit chilly, and Dean appreciated the thought as he stepped out from his side.

They walked to a patch of grass just in front of the car and Cas spread one of the blankets out. He settled on the ground and Dean tentatively sat next to him. As soon as they were both mostly settled, Cas wrapped the blanket around both of them and hugged Dean close around the waist as they leaned back against the bumper. 

Dean settled against him, awkward at first but then relaxing as their body heat mingled under the blanket. He rested his head tentatively on Cas shoulder, relaxing as Cas’ thumb rubbed just under his cuff. The tension of the day slowly receded as they sat in silence together. Dean was surprised by how much better he felt, just him and Cas. It was a relief not to have any expectations; Cas seemed to be content just holding him. Even though that was strange, Dean wasn’t going to look this particular gift horse in the mouth. 

When Cas felt Dean relax completely, thank goodness, he spoke up. It was unnatural to see Dean as tense as he had been in the car ride up; he hated to see his soulmate so distressed. Even so, despite knowing he would be causing further distress, he had to know. “So… Do you think you could tell me what it was about dinner that has you so worked up?”

Dean tensed again, and in response Cas made a soft soothing noise, hugging Dean closer and continuing the soothing rub of his thumb under Dean’s cuff. “Hey, hey now… Shhh, none of that, Dean. Please… Don’t tense up on me again…” He leaned in and kissed Dean’s forehead gently. “I just want to know what made you so upset, so I can help you. If I don’t know, I can’t help.” 

Dean snorted a little bit, and it was a more normal sound. He relaxed fractionally, but didn’t quite get as settled as he had been before. “It wasn’t a big deal,” he said. “And it was better when you got there, anyway.”

Cas’ voice was earnest when he nodded back to Dean. “Thank you for allowing me to participate, for however small a time, in the dinner with your mother this evening. I know how important that first meeting was to you. And for you to introduce me as your boyfriend… I know I said it earlier, but I am _truly_ most honored. You are one of the most courageous men I’ve ever met. I find myself continuously impressed by your bravery and willingness to step outside of your comfort zone.”

Dean squirmed a little, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t have lasted nearly as long if you hadn’t shown up when you did, dude. Thanks.”

Cas smiled, or Dean thought he did. His shoulders took on the shape they always did when Cas was smiling, at least. Then he pressed a kiss to the top of Dean’s head, and _Dean_ smiled. “You are welcome, Pretty. I would always endeavor to be available to you when you need support. That being said,” and he reached down to tip Dean’s face up to meet his own gaze, “I would appreciate if you stopped attempting to avoid the question. I know it is not a comfortable question to answer, but I think it would be important for us to be able to work through these things together.”

Dean squirmed, turning his eyes away from his dom’s concerned gaze. Deflection didn’t work with Cas, and really… He wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to deflect. He wanted to be with Cas, and that meant sharing the hard stuff too. And anyway, he was _asking_. Dean could probably count on one hand the people who had asked about things that bothered him and actually _cared_ , and he’d met four of them in the last month. He pulled out of Cas’ hold, unable to bear the feeling of those earnest blue eyes while he confessed his weaknesses. Staring at his hands instead, he spoke reluctantly. 

“I really don’t like talking about John,” he said, his free hand clenching and unclenching at his knee. “He wasn’t a bad guy, not really, but all anyone can ever see is the way he moved around. The way I didn’t stay in one place. It wasn’t a great childhood, but it didn’t suck, and I wish people wouldn’t just _assume_ things, you know?”

Cas forced himself to stay relaxed. It was, of course, Dean’s right to feel however he did about his father. That being said, it didn’t mean it had to sit right with Cas. He spoke after a moment of collecting himself, not wanting to distress Dean with too forceful a statement. “I can see where your frustration lies, Pretty, and I understand the urge to protect the man who raised you. However, I must admit that I am not much disposed to like or honor John Winchester. It seems, from what you’ve told me, that you have grown into the man you are in _spite_ of him, and while that speaks worlds of your character, it does very little to encourage me to think highly of him.”

Dean frowned and shifted in Cas’ grip. “It wasn’t like that! I know you all have some kind of… weird idea that he was abusive or something, but he really wasn’t. Yeah, he was strict. He had expectations for me. And his job meant we moved around a lot. But you don’t hear military folks being called abusive because they move around a lot! He does important work, he saves lives!”

Cas narrowed his eyes, just a little. He understood Dean’s perspective, but he really couldn’t stand John Winchester. He hadn’t even met the man, but even now Dean was putting himself aside so he could let John have his way, and Cas wasn’t sure he could stand for that. Dean needed protecting, and as his dom, as his _boyfriend_ , that was his job. Still, he didn’t want to brush aside the tentative rapport they had, so he took a deep breath in, then let it out again. “Dean.” He very purposely used the other man’s real name, and felt a corresponding twitch of attention from Dean as soon as he did. “I am certain,” Cas continued, “the man who raised you has done many good things, for many people. But you are his _son_!”

Dean frowned. “That’s not the point! I was safe and healthy, he had other people to help.” His voice was less certain than he would have liked. Some small part of him wanted to agree with Cas, _did_ agree with Cas. How often had he wished that John would stay, that John would be around when he wanted him? That cooking dinner and doing the laundry wouldn’t have all been his job all the time? “He did the best he could, Cas.” 

Cas’ frown showed that he was not impressed with that answer. “And the fact that he did not put you first? That you do not call him ‘father’ or ‘dad’ or any other term of endearment, when I noted no such hesitance with your mother, that he continues to use you as a convenient resource without care as to the life you are living now?” He shook his head and visibly stopped himself.

The words hit home, more than Dean would have liked to show. He remembered how heartbreaking it had been the first time he’d seen the goodbye note signed ‘John’ instead of ‘Dad’, and how he’d wished in that moment to be anything _but_ the useless sub he’d turned out to be. Still, that didn’t mean that he could just let it all pass. “He’s still my dad. He’s not a bad guy, Cas,” he said. “He tried. Really hard. He just didn’t know what he was doing. How many of us do?” 

Cas took another deep breath and let it out slowly before continuing. “I cannot forgive hurt against you so easily, Dean. Being a good parent does not mean not making mistakes, but it _does_ mean attempting to fix them. Still, I will endeavor to not speak ill of him to you, because I do not want to cause you discomfort.” He kissed the top of Dean’s head, and breathed a small sigh of relief when Dean didn’t seem inclined to press the issue.

They sat in silence for a moment while Dean processed Cas’ outburst, and when he did speak again, it was a little resigned. “Look. I’m not saying he was perfect. There were things I wish were different, sure.” He shrugged a little, still looking at his hands. “It would have been nice to start and finish a school year in one school, or to know when I got home there would be dinner waiting. But life doesn’t always work out that way, and I didn’t have it too bad. John made sure there _was_ food, and I had clothes and a place to stay, a quiet place to study. It could have been worse.” 

Cas winced at that. Could have been worse covered a multitude of sins. Dean seemed to be implying that ‘just’ because John Winchester hadn’t hurt him physically, and Cas really wasn’t sure that _wasn’t_ the case, that it had not been an abusive situation. Still, he knew it would take time to convince Dean of that, so he didn’t comment on it again. It was too raw of an evening for Dean already to be pushing that kind of development.

“It would be nice if everyone could think like you,” Dean continued, “and not knock on John just because I grew up kind of unconventionally. But all they see is how I moved around, how I didn’t stay in school or do sports… I didn’t even really care about that stuff anyway.” Cas frowned, remembering their early conversations at the bar. Dean could have been very much at home in a band, even just a garage band. He would have excelled at debate club, or even some of the language appreciation clubs, if Dean had been willing to put himself out that far, given that his scholarship seemed to be a fairly well kept secret. It was yet another point he didn’t think Dean was ready for him to press, however, and so he kept his mouth shut while Dean kept talking. 

“No one ever really wanted to talk about what I _do_ like, or all the cool stuff I saw because I moved around a lot. Just because I didn’t go to one school all the time doesn’t mean I didn’t learn things, and just because I wasn’t on sports teams or theatre troupes doesn’t mean I didn’t do interesting things.”

Personally, Cas didn’t really believe that Dean didn’t regret missing out on many of the ‘typical’ high school activities, but could concede the point that there _was_ more than living a ‘typical’ life. He decided it was time to lighten the mood a little bit. “Well, that was their loss, Pretty,” he said. “Because you are one of the most interesting men I have ever met.”

Dean felt himself flush, and a small shiver of pleasure from the nickname. How had he gotten so lucky? Cas was unlike anyone Dean had ever subbed for. He didn’t even have a good way to describe him; ‘perfect’ seemed a tad bit unfair and hard to live up to. Still, he was _so_ different from any of the other doms Dean had ever been with. He wanted more than one date, for one thing. Hell, he wasn’t fleeing from the _soulmate_ thing. That in itself was pretty shocking. _Dean_ had wanted to flee from the soulmate thing, at least right away. He was finding himself relaxing lately, which was unexpectedly nice. Dean smiled as he settled a little more comfortably. Cas just had so many _trustworthy_ vibes, it was impossible to be uneasy around him for long. “Uh… thanks,” he said, a smile sliding onto his lips. It felt good. Cas always seemed so _earnest_ with his compliments, he could almost believe him. 

Cas spoke again as he felt Dean relaxing, and his voice was just a little rougher, a little more sensual. Dean was almost lost in the feeling of that calloused thumb rubbing on his wrist, so he almost missed it, but he focused in quickly. “I meant to tell you earlier, you look _very_ good tonight, Pretty,” he said, his voice rumbling near Dean’s ear. “I do love seeing you as yourself, without the trappings of the bar.”

“Thanks,” Dean said again, with a little flush of pleasure. “You look really good too… Paint suits you.” This kind of flirting was easy, fun. The kind of thing he would do at the bar. Much easier to accept physical compliments than more nebulous ones. When Cas shifted, he turned to meet the other man’s gaze. His dom was smiling, he could see it now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and Dean’s eyes followed his dom’s lips as he spoke.

“Why thank you, Pretty.” Dean swallowed a little, remembering those lips on his own just an hour ago. He’d never had a dom who kissed as much as Cas did, or as attentitively. He surprised himself by licking his lips as he watched Cas’ smile spread even a little broader. It was as though Cas had read his mind, because he leaned in to press a soft kiss to Dean’s lips. Dean sighed into it, relaxing in a way he hadn’t been able to outside of Sam’s apartment. It was a passionate kiss, but it wasn’t intended to arouse. Instead, it was soothing, chaste. A reminder that Cas was there and wanted to take care of him. Dean relaxed into it, and when it ended, he dropped his head to Cas’ shoulder again. 

Damn. It had been a long time since he’d really seriously considered a dom sexually, but Cas was pushing all the right buttons. Dean couldn’t imagine how it would be to feel all that attention, all that care, focused on him for pleasure. It kind of made him dizzy to imagine it. If only he were ready, though he knew that probably he would have a panic attack if he even tried to bring it up. So he didn’t. 

Cas seemed to sense the slight change of mood and just tugged him closer again, speaking after another moment of consideration. “I meant what I said earlier,” he said as he settled back in with Dean’s hand in his own. “About you being full of unexpected talents. I look very forward to discovering more unexpected skills you have. As you said, you lived an unconventional childhood, and as such I am certain you know many things which those who have lived a more limited set of experiences would not.”

Dean privately thought that filling two-hundred rock salt shells an hour, being able to field strip and clean a rifle in under ten minutes in the dark, and being a damn good gravedigger probably weren’t the kinds of skills that would impress an art student from Stanford. The pressures of the night came spiraling back in, and he fought the urge to pull away again as the memories of Mary and Sam extolling his brother’s many high school exploits rolled through his head. He had no doubt that Cas had a similar resume; his dom was so fucking out of his league it wasn’t even funny, and the compliments were beginning to feel a little cloying. Didn’t Cas know who he really was?

Out loud, he merely chuckled, forcing himself to stay relaxed and loose. Cas was way too perceptive for his own good; he’d definitely notice if Dean tensed up again. “Not much more to know, dude. I’m not smart like Sammy, or creative like you, or charismatic like Jess. I’m just a car mechanic from all over nowhere with no prospects to speak of. Just a GED and a give-em-hell attitude.”

Cas felt his stomach clench at the self-deprecating words. He knew they didn’t have the kind of relationship that gave him a tangible response to that kind of commentary, but that didn’t change the protective flare that rushed through him. Had it been anyone else talking about Dean, they would have Had Words, and he couldn’t bring himself to do anything less for his boyfriend just because it was about _himself_. Cas’ eyes narrowed a little and his grip shifted to squeeze Dean’s wrist firmly. “Dean,” he said, his voice more insistent than angry, and a little sad at the same time. “I know we have not entered into any kind of… formal relationship as yet, but… It bothers me greatly to hear you talk about the man I… care for deeply in such a manner. And were we in a formal relationship, there would be consequences for such comments.”

Dean flushed. Fuck. He’d done it now. Cas had been angry, before, but he’d never brought up _punishment_. Not in any serious way. Before fear could freeze him, though, the words filtered through. ‘It bothers me greatly to hear you talk about the man I care for deeply in such a manner’. Care for? Deeply? That was just on the edge of the ‘L’ word. That was almost as terrifying as realizing that he’d fucked up. It didn’t sound like Cas was leaving, though, so logically, it could be true.

Even the phrasing caught him off guard. How could Cas read him so well? Making it about other people had always been the best way to reach him; leave it to Cas to turn even his own self opinion around on him. He figured out that he had to make it about his dom and not about himself, because Dean sure as hell didn’t care if it hurt him, but he didn’t want to hurt Cas. Dean leaned back and looked at Cas speculatively. “Yeah? Well...” He wasn’t sure where this was coming from, the urge to follow this path. He’d never had a dom for whom he actually _wanted_ to know the consequences for an action. And after a night like he’d had, surrounded by so many dominant personalities, he’d thought that the last thing he would want would be to be reminded, _again_ , what a terrible sub he was. Being punished definitely meant he’d been a bad sub. 

But Cas wasn’t like that, wasn’t rubbing in how badly Dean had failed. His words were reassuring, even as they evidenced his disappointment. He wasn’t speaking in anger, hadn’t pushed Dean away even though Dean had obviously already upset him. When Cas spoke firmly, Dean felt safe. Cherished. Cas had made it clear that the reason he disliked Dean’s comment was because he didn’t like Dean to be hurt. It was good to know that he cared enough to want to correct a behaviour that he felt was harmful to Dean. He cleared his throat. “Hypothetically speaking,” he managed. “What you do about it? What would be the punishment?”

He knew it was the right thing to say when Cas’ mouth softened, just a little, into a smile. “Well,” he said. “First, I didn't say 'punishment', I said 'consequences' and I believe that they should fit the action. So, as these were words, so too would be the response. I believe I would have you sit and listen to me enumerate three of your positive traits for every negative one you utter.” He turned, his blue eyes fixed straight on Dean’s. “You would have to remember those three traits and repeat them back to me the next day. Comments such as yours just now would take one week to complete; addressing one aspect daily.” 

Dean squirmed. Yes, at the diner they’d discussed physical punishment, and how Cas did not prefer hitting, but Dean hadn’t been sure that any other kinds of punishments actually existed. The alternative was startling. It sounded… Actually, just like Cas. Not like any other punishment he’d had before, but Cas wasn’t like any dom he’d been with before, either. No other dom he’d ever been with would have cared about how Dean talked about himself. Cas was a force unto himself. 

He knew Cas would follow through, too, and that… Was unexpectedly reassuring. He didn’t know what to expect from Cas, not really, because he was so unlike anyone else. At the same time, though, Cas was dependable. If he said he’d do something, he’d do it. And Dean liked that. he liked that a lot.

As Cas finished speaking, he shifted back in his spot a little bit and glanced at Dean, before apparently deciding Dean needed time to process. He looked away, though their hands remained together. 

A few minutes later, Cas spoke again. “When I was twelve, I took up painting. It was my father’s rule; anyone who lived in our house needed to have an acceptable ‘gentleman’s hobby’. My brothers all did various sporting activities; horseback riding, polo, swimming. I was decidedly not athletic, but when I first picked up a paint brush at school, I realized it was what called to me.” 

Dean smiled; they rarely talked about their childhoods, for good reason. Neither of them had really had childhoods to write home about. Still, though, Dean liked hearing about Cas, anything he wanted to share. Cas was his new fascination, and Dean had always been a thorough researcher.

“There was a summer camp that I attended, starting that summer and going all through middle school. It was called Color your World, and I met many of my biggest painting inspirations there. Several local college professors took the summers to teach budding young artists technique and history. They made quite an impression on me; I knew, after my first summer, that I was going to be an art teacher. My father did not agree with me, of course. He frequently attempted to turn my attention to more ‘realistic’ career paths. But I continued to return to CYW every summer. When I was sixteen, they offered me a Counselor-in-Training program, and I truly fell in love with teaching.”

“Really?” Dean was a little bit sceptical. He’d never gone to any kind of summer camp, and really didn’t get the appeal. Spending a week or more with strangers camping in the middle of the woods? Definitely not fun. 

Cas smiled, though, and nodded. “My very first year as a CIT, I had a little boy in my cabin named Tommy. He’d never done any kind of art before, not even finger painting. At first, he was very tentative with all of his endeavors. It took a great deal of coaxing to convince him that mixing colors were alright, and that there was no ‘right’ answer to any activity we were doing. By the end of the week, he was as eager as all the others to showcase his work at our ‘art show’, and to tell his parents what he had learned.”

“That sounds really cool.” Dean nudged Cas’ shoulder, smiling and more relaxed now. “It must have been neat, to know what you wanted to do so early on.”

Cas’ smile was a little more wistful. “You could say that, though my father never truly agreed. When I began to apply for schools, my father made it clear that I should be looking for universities known for their pre-medicine or pre-law degrees. My summer of senior year was supposed to be my last year of teaching painting. I knew, though, that I could not give it up.” Cas looked up as the bushes across from them rustled a little, but when nothing more than a rabbit appeared, he continued the story. 

“I chose Stanford, to my father’s joy… And then elected to begin a dual major of art history and education. It didn’t matter that I was still attending Stanford; the family money would only be used to assist me if I was going for a degree of which he approved. It stung, but I love art too much to give it up.” A sudden gust of wind blew then, and Castiel paused to draw Dean and the blanket closer as the leaves rustled around them. They both shivered, but neither was inclined to move out of their little blanket shelter. 

When the night quieted again, Cas smiled pensively. “My senior summer will forever stay with me, as encouragement. The professor I had been taking private lessons from for some time, Dr. Renway, was working at the camp that summer. He led my class group. He told me, ‘Castiel, never give up on your dreams. Your family has a job, to help ground you, to give you a solid place to take off from… They have to give you your roots. But once you have your roots, it’s up to you to spread your wings and take to the sky. Everyone, at the end of the day, just needs two things to succeed: roots, and wings.’ I’ve never forgotten that, and I try every day to remember my roots, as he’s said, but still to spread my wings and reach for my dreams.”

Dean nodded, and impulsively leaned up to kiss Cas softly on the cheek. “Well… That’s what makes you so awesome.” It surprised him to say that so bluntly, but Cas _was_ awesome. “You are a dedicated, honest guy, and I know you’re going to make a lot of difference in a lot of lives. I…” He flushed a little bit. “I really look forward to seeing you fly, Cas.”

Cas looked down, and his eyes were warm when they met Dean’s. “Why, thank you Dean,” he said. He smiled too, and his thumb resumed its rhythmic rubbing along Dean’s wrist. He traced his own name under the cuff, and Dean shivered a little in pleasure. “It means a lot to me, knowing you think so highly of me.”

“I do,” Dean said firmly. “You’re gonna be a great teacher. I mean it.” Already he could see it in their own relationship. Cas was a great teacher to him and always was showing him new things about himself.

Cas smiled and leaned in for another soft kiss, and Dean melted against him. He had _never_ had a relationship like this one, where dark and brooding could turn to soft and sweet at a moment’s notice. Cas didn’t kiss him long, just a little peck to remind him that he was cherished. At least, that’s how it felt. 

As they lapsed into another companionable silence, Dean thought about his own teenage summers. He’d never gone to camp, sure, but there were lots of things he’d done that were really cool. Some things that were even safe for civilian consumption. He watched the branches sway in the breeze for a while, but finally opened his mouth again. It was less hesitant than talking about John had been, though still tentative.

“The year I Presented was pretty rough. I didn’t really fit in at school; I was in the heart of Texas and I was not a… typical sub.” He gave a short bark of laughter, bitter and harsh. “The guys who… took me under their wing… They weren’t gentle.” He shook his head and squirmed a little closer to Cas, while at the same time, turning away, pressing more of his back to Cas’ chest. He could feel Cas’ eyes on him, but didn’t let himself dwell on it. “I really don't wanna talk about them right now.” He shook his head again, getting himself back on track. "So anyway. John picked me up at the end of school and said we were going to see Uncle Bobby."

Castiel frowned; he could hear the tension in Dean’s voice. There was clearly something there, just simmering under the surface, but he didn’t want to follow up on it right now. Dean had said he didn’t want to discuss it, and Cas would respect that, even if his instincts as dom screamed at him to find out who had hurt his sub, so he could fix it. But this hurt had occurred a long time ago, and Cas knew he couldn’t always fix everything. He focused on Dean’s story, because there _had_ to be a reason Dean would be telling it now.

“I always liked Uncle Bobby and even after… After I presented, he didn’t treat me any different. He always acted like I was just Dean. Asked my opinion, cooked dinner, hell, he even did the laundry. Visiting Uncle Bobby was like going on vacation.” He grinned wistfully. “His library was _awesome_. It’s where I first fell in love with Latin. That summer, John drove me up and dumped me on Uncle Bobby’s front porch. I’m not actually sure he even got out of the car. He just waited until I was on the porch with my duffel, and then left. Rumsfeld, the dog, hadn’t even stopped barking.”

Castiel listened to the pause, waiting for Dean to indicate he was finished. Inside, he was simmering with anger for John WInchester. How could a man treat his own child so callously, at such a delicate stage of life? His arm tightened reflexively, holding Dean more tightly to his own chest. He couldn't protect Dean from his past, but he could at least remind him that in the present, he was loved.

Dean gave a shuddering breath, but squeezed Cas’ hand and continued, intent on finishing. “We were together all summer. Bobby runs a car salvage yard. He decided that it wasn’t good for a kid not to have a goal for the summer, so he pulled out this Mustang Shelby from his yard, said he hadn’t gotten around to restoring it but the customer was getting ready for it, told me I was gonna help. That was the best damn summer I ever had. Uncle B kept me from thinking too hard, and we spent the summer cleaning that baby up until she shone. Cherry red, leather seats…”He grinned, this time a much happier grin. “Damn but she was pretty.”

Castiel smiled as well. This was the Dean he liked to see, enthused and positive about his own accomplishments. “You seem very proud. I take it that this is where your desire to own a Shelby comes from?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. I mean, it would be really awesome to have _any_ car, but there’s just something about the Shelby. They’re it for me, man. Totally.”

Cas gave Dean another little hug. “Well… I look forward to getting to see you realize your dreams, Dean. I know that you did not have the most stable of childhoods, but… I think you are planting your own roots, and that is an amazing privilege to watch.” 

Dean flushed, nearly invisible in the darkness. “Well, you’re more than watching. I… Never really felt like I belonged anywhere. The garage was nice, and the people at the bar too. But you and Sam and Jess, you’re starting to make me _want_ to stick around. And that’s never happened before.”

Cas smiled, and this time Dean could feel it, because he pressed it in a kiss to his sub’s head. “You are a wonder, Dean,” Cas said softly. They fell silent, then, just looking up at the stars. Dean let Cas cuddle him, and for the first time in a long time, he let himself relax completely. His eyes drifted closed, lulled by the warmth and the anchoring arms around him, and he fell asleep to the sounds of the wind rustling through the trees, and Cas’ heartbeat under his ear.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow... It's been a long time. I'm sorry everyone!! I've had some pretty significant family issues, including the death of a grandparent. I've put about 1500 miles on my car in the last month going back and forth to home. And as much as I've wanted to drown my sorrows in this story, it didn't always work out that way. Thank you all for being patient. 
> 
> As usual, many thanks to beta-cheerleader-all around awesome gal Lisa for all your help and making this chapter something people would find worth reading. Hopefully we won't wait another month for a new chapter!
> 
> Dare

Cas sat, looking at Dean’s head pillowed on his shoulder instead of up at the stars while Dean’s warm weight pressed to his chest. Even though the emotions of the evening had left him worn out, he wasn’t going to miss out on the opportunity to watch Dean sleep. Who knew when it would come up again? He continued idly stroking Dean’s wrist. It was an amazing thrill, knowing it was _his_ name under his thumb, indelibly marked on the wrist of the man whose name _he_ bore.

At the same time, his mind was going a mile a minute. His Dean was hurt in so many ways, and Cas ached, knowing that he couldn’t fix it. Still, every inch of him now _knew_ Dean was his, the way he was Dean’s. If there was a way to take all of his pain away, Castiel would do it in a heartbeat. _Damn_ John Winchester for the scars he put on such a beautiful soul. How could a man act so callously toward his own flesh and blood? Certainly his own father was no gem; he’d changed his mind frequently on a whim, and they hadn’t spoken since Castiel announced his major. Still, he was confident that his father would one day forgive him, and when he’d been a child, his father had encouraged him to find a hobby that he _did_ like, when faced with the daunting task of trying to do the things his brothers did. It seemed that John, as soon as Dean didn’t live up to whatever it was that John expected of him, had systematically turned Dean into a gopher-cum-research assistant with no trust in his own abilities.

Anger welled up again, and he quashed it by bending to press a soft kiss to the top of Dean’s head. Dean might still love his father, but that would not stop Cas from anger on his behalf. Now that he _had_ Dean, he would do his best to protect him, even from his own flesh and blood.

A cold wind blew, and he looked up to see dark clouds rolling in from the coast. Moisture was heavy on the air, and he nudged Dean gently. Their idyllic evening was destined to end, it seemed. “Dean,” he murmured quietly, then a little louder. “Dean, wake up. I am sorry to wake you, but it is going to rain.” As he spoke, he felt the first drip of rain hit his head, and he shifted quickly to nudge Dean’s shoulder. He didn’t want Dean woken by the cold rain.

Dean blinked blearily, and then Cas’ words seemed to penetrate. He shifted, stretched. “Mmm? Rainin’?”

Cas shook his head, reluctant even yet to release Dean but knowing he had to. “Not yet, but soon. Come, we should go.” He shifted away from his sub and pushed to his feet. He offered Dean a hand, who after a moment took it and allowed himself to be helped up.

A crack of thunder overhead, coupled with fast moving clouds, and they both began to pull up the blankets from the ground. By the time they had the blankets bundled into the car, another crack of thunder had them diving for the seats. Rain started to fall, first a drizzle, but by the time the car was started, it was coming down in sheets. Dean chuckled sleepily. “Wow. Good call, dude… And, uh, sorry for fallin’ asleep on you.”

Cas smiled fondly. “It was no imposition, Dean,” he said, his hand reaching automatically across the gap to squeeze Dean’s knee again. “I had much to think about, and spending any time with you is a boon.”

Dean laughed, shaking his head, but his hand snaked down to twine fingers with Cas’. “Well, I think that means you didn’t mind. Cool. I mean, I didn’t mean to fall asleep but it…” He yawned, and dropped his head against the window. “Felt good. I think I needed it.”

Cas couldn’t help but smile more broadly at the relaxed posture Dean had adopted, practically sprawled in the seat. His head rested against the window, but this time it was a lazy spread, a far cry from the frightened curl when they drove out. It was very reassuring. “Yes, I think you did.” His heart skipped a beat as lightning illuminated Dean’s face, still sleep heavy and smiling drowsily. Cas thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

They drove without speaking for a while, but not in silence. Dean found a classic rock station after a few minutes, and a ballad that Cas wasn’t familiar with filled the air. It was a much more companionable silence than the way up to the park, and despite the rain they were driving through, Cas kept shooting glances at Dean. The way the music transformed his face, and how the tension of earlier seemed to have melted away, Castiel couldn’t believe how much _more_ beautiful he became.

They finally pulled up at Dean’s house, and Cas felt his stomach clench again. Here they were, and once again he was going to have to let Dean go. The half hour Dean had rested in his arms just didn’t seem like enough when he considered going back to his own cold bed. He knew intellectually that Dean’s desire for privacy was not a reflection on him, and that Dean had perfectly logical reasons for needing his space. Their earlier conversation showed that Dean’s past experiences with relationships hadn’t been positive. And he could understand the man’s need to have a bolthole for escape. Still, that did not entirely negate the feeling of loss when he anticipated the lonely drive home in the rain.

That made it all the more shocking when, as Cas cut the engine, Dean spoke. “Would you… Cas, stay? I’d really like it if you did.” His voice was earnest, hopeful even, and Cas felt his heart beat faster.

“Dean, I… Are you certain?” It galled to question Dean’s sincerity. His inner dom called out to take Dean into the house, get him warm, dry and into bed where he could hold and protect him. The coldly logical part of his brain knew that not much time had passed since they had met, though, and Dean still had every right to be leery of bringing a still somewhat unknown into his own territory. The last time he had been here, he’d left the sub on his porch. He didn’t want to do that now, but he didn’t want to lose the progress they’d made earlier, either.

Dean’s gaze hardened, just a little, his walls coming back up. “Yes,” he said, and hated the brittle note that crept into his voice. “I… I never just _fell asleep _with someone like that before. And I… It’s cold, tonight, and wet, and we’re both tired. I’m not asking for, I mean, I know I’m not ready for anything else. Just… Stay?”__

__What was there to say to that? Dean knew his own mind, and who was Cas to tell him no? Before those expressive green eyes could read more into his reluctance than was meant, he smiled and nodded. “Of course, Dean,” he said, leaning forward to brush a kiss to plush lips. “Shall we brave the rain together?”_ _

__Dean nodded, and each opened their door to allow them to slip out into the deluge. Even the short sprint to the porch left them both soaked, and Cas was only too grateful to huddle under the roof while Dean fished out his keys to let them in._ _

__“Uh, don’t mind the mess,” Dean said, suddenly a little bashful as he pushed the door open.”I’ve been meaning to tidy up but I’ve been, uh, busy.”_ _

__Cas smiled and shook his head. “Don’t worry, Dean. Artists are not well known for their tidiness, either.” Dean offered a wan smile and headed into the house, Cas following close behind._ _

__“The bathroom’s down the hall on the left…” Dean motioned. “There’s a towel in there, if you wanna get dried off.”_ _

__Castiel paused for a moment, glancing around the room. The living room _was_ messy, with stacks of books everywhere, but it wasn’t a disaster by any stretch of imagination. They were piled around the couch, by the book shelves, _on_ the book shelves. Even knowing that Dean was an avid reader, Cas couldn’t believe the sheer _number_ of books he could see. The books themselves, though, were clearly organized. Near himself, Cas saw books that all had Latin titles. On the coffee table was a stack starting with “ _Fantastic Beasts of Asia_ and ending with _The History of Native American Folklore”_. Clearly Dean knew what was there and had some method to the seeming madness. Cas thought back to some of their early conversations, how Dean had drawn him in with intellectual debate only thinly masked by flirting. He hoped to get to explore more of these books soon; the kind of books someone surrounded themselves with could tell a great deal about them._ _

__Interspersed with the books were more expected objects: car parts, and even some electronics. Tools were spread throughout the living room, as well as what Castiel assumed were engine parts, or some even more foreign mechanical workings of a car. He had no idea what they were, but he knew with a certainty that _Dean_ did, and in fact was likely able to make something entirely unique out of two otherwise unconnected parts. The bits and pieces, neatly laid out on newspaper on tables and floor, seemed to be organized somehow, though Cas was at a loss what it was. The intelligence Dean displayed so casually was impressive and heartbreaking in equal measures, given that the young man seemed to be unaware of his own brilliance._ _

__The couch, tucked between piles of books and the odd machine parts, looked worn, but comfortable, and there was an old television against the wall. Castiel felt a wave of longing when he pictured sitting with Dean there, a blanket around their shoulders while Dean rested against his chest as he had done just that very night. Watching a movie or just talking, Cas didn’t care; that was still the embodiment of what he wanted from a relationship. That degree of caring and companionship._ _

__Dean’s words finally filtered through, and he smiled. “Thank you, Dean,” he said, turning away from the room with difficulty. He didn’t know when he’d get another chance to see Dean in his own environment, and so much could be learned by what people kept in their homes. He went down the hall to the bathroom, finding the promised towel, which he began to use rigorously to dry off. In the other room, he could hear Dean moving around, presumably locking up._ _

__The bathroom was small but meticulously clean, and even the towel Cas was using had very few grease spots, unusual in a mechanic’s home. It was a stark contrast to the barely-controlled clutter of the living room, and Cas wondered at the difference. The room looked to be in good repair, as well, with only a few cracks in the tile here and there. He was startled out of his reverie by a knock on the door. Dean stuck his head in a moment later, a pair of sweats and a worn tee shirt in hand._ _

__“Hey, dude, thought you might like to change into something dry… You… want cocoa or something?”_ _

__Cas smiled as he accepted the clothes; Dean, as tired as he was, was still focused on Cas’ comfort. Still, he didn’t want Dean awake any more than necessary. It had been hard enough to let him sleep earlier, he wanted to get him back to that as quickly as possible. “No, thank you Dean,” he said earnestly. “I am very tired, and I am sure you are as well. A warm bed and sleep sound the best to me right now.” After all, that meant he would have a little more time to sit and just enjoy Dean’s presence and he couldn’t turn that down. Waiting for cocoa might mean Dean would change his mind about Cas being there, and that wasn’t a risk he wanted to take._ _

__He thought that he saw a little relief on Dean’s face as he said that, and the other man nodded. “Okay, uh, cool, that’s good. I’m just gonna go change and stuff. There’s an extra toothbrush under the sink. If you want.”_ _

__He pulled the door closed before Cas could respond. He smiled as he listened to the footsteps, and hastily stripped off his wet clothes and hung them over the shower rail. At the sink, he took a few minutes to scrub at his face, getting the worst of the paint off since he’d never actually gotten around to taking a shower that evening. He stepped into the sweatpants, which were a little big, and pulled the shirt over his head. It was soft and gray and _old_ ; clearly Dean had had it for a long time._ _

__He found a pack of five toothbrushes under the sink. One was removed already, indicating that Dean had taken it, and Cas selected the green one remaining in the package. He brushed his teeth quickly, cognizant of the fact that Dean was waiting for him. He didn’t want to give his sub too much time for his second thoughts to become anxiety again. Cas paused as he went to rinse his mouth, catching the quote on the shirt Dean had given him. _We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be. --Vonnegut.__ _

__The quote struck him as very _Dean_ somehow. And he knew that Dean was a Vonnegut fan, they had spoken of his books many times during their conversations at the bar. He realized he had been standing there a little too long, and he spit and cleaned his mouth. He checked that the towel was hung as neatly as it had been when he arrived, out of respect for Deans room, and turned to the door. Time to go find Dean._ _

__It didn’t take long to do that very thing. Dean stood outside the door to the bathroom, changed into an old Metallica shirt and his own pair of loose sweats. He shifted awkwardly on the balls of his feet. “I’ve just gotta brush my teeth real fast,” he explained._ _

__Cas reached out, squeezing his shoulder and then rubbing his arm soothingly. “That is fine, Dean,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Take as long as you need, I am fine.” Dean relaxed marginally, a shy smile on his lips, and sidestepped Cas to slip into the bathroom._ _

__Cas leaned on the wall while he waited, not wanting to explore without Dean’s consent. From his position in the hallway, he could still see the living room. A line of white gleamed dully in front of the door. He couldn’t tell what it was, but he was relatively sure it wasn’t there when they had walked in. With the lights out he could no longer read the individual titles, but he could still admire the arrangement. Without the pressure of Dean expecting him to move, he could see that the books were clearly arranged to give the most amount of space in the room, a clear path between them, the table, the door and the couch. Messy, perhaps, but he was beginning to see the order to the chaos._ _

__Other than the books and the machine parts, there was surprisingly little clutter for a man living alone. Clearly, Dean had a place for everything; unlike in his own room, Cas saw no stray socks, no shirts lying alone, no stacks of cups or dirty plates. The only concession to disorder was his library of tools and words._ _

__The bathroom door opened and Dean emerged, face damp and red from being washed. He paused when he saw Cas, as though reminding himself that Cas was invited and welcome. Then he stepped closer, purposely, and took Cas by the hand. “Ready for bed?”_ _

__Castiel nodded. “Yes, Pretty,” he said, turning away from the living room without complaint. “I am quite ready for sleep.” He let Dean lead him down the hall to the only other room, which had to be the bedroom._ _

__The room itself was dominated by the bed, easily queen size and taking up a significant portion of the floor. Cas wasn’t sure if he was surprised or not; Dean didn’t really strike him as the type to lay in bed all day. Still, the pillows on the bed looked like feather pillows and the coverlet was a dark blue that looked warm and heavy, perfect for snuggling under. The rest of the room was a little homier than the living room and bathroom. Cas definitely wasn’t surprised by the fact that Dean had taken this, his _most_ private sanctum and made it the place most obviously his._ _

__Classic rock and hair metal posters lined the walls. Led Zeppelin, The Eagles, Metallica. Dean’s musical taste was obvious to anyone with eyes. Interspersed with the posters were what appeared to be magazine cutouts of cars. Cas didn’t know what they were, but seeing as they all might be the same car, he made an educated guess that it was the Shelby Dean dreamed of. On the battered dresser stood several photographs. Cas wasn’t close enough to look at them, and he itched to, but he knew that they needed to go to bed. Hopefully, there would be time to look in the morning, if he could forestall Dean’s panic about his presence._ _

__“I, uh, sleep on the right. Ifthat’sokay?” The rushed last sentence made Cas long to ease Dean’s worry, and with a start, he realized that he could._ _

__“It is your bed, Dean,” he reminded him, stepping closer and hugging him tightly, reassuringly. “Sleep wherever you like. I am not concerned with which side I end up on.”_ _

__Dean flushed, but nodded and flicked off the overhead lights before they headed for the bed together. The light from the bedside lamp cast shadows on the walls as they moved. Cas climbed on first, so he could move to the far side. He sank a little bit, and Dean grinned tentatively, a little of the tension bleeding away. “The bed was my first big purchase with my first real paycheck. Memory foam,” he explained. “It remembers me.”_ _

__Cas chuckled and slid beneath the covers. “It is very comfortable,” he said, waiting as Dean went to climb in himself._ _

__The bookshelf was in easy reach of the bed, at least for someone as tall as Dean. The titles on it were something of a surprise. Each and every book was battered and well loved. Cas was not very familiar with most of them, but it certainly appeared that every one of Vonnegut’s books were present. “You have a very interesting book collection,” he remarked as he shifted to get comfortable._ _

__Alongside Vonnegut, he could see Star Wars, Harry Potter and some old Bradbury sci-fi. The eclectic choices seemed a contrast to the varied academic titles Cas had seen in the other room._ _

__Dean was blushing again in the pale light cast by the lamp. “Yeah… I’ve had a lot of them for a long time.” He shrugged and slid in beside Cas. His chest fluttered when Cas immediately opened his arms for Dean to curl close again. Even though just an hour ago he’d been in Cas’ arms sitting out in public where anyone could see, it felt different to do it here, in his own bed. How many times had he dreamed of this exact situation? The longing for that support, that warmth, and here he was presented with it with no strings attached. He felt a brief moment of hesitation._ _

___“You’re an idjit, Dean”_ he told himself firmly. _“You invited him, remember?”_ Steeling himself, he moved into Cas’ arms and forced himself to relax his head onto the dom’s shoulder._ _

__Cas frowned. The easy camaraderie they’d had earlier seemed to have evaporated. “Dean? Are you alright?” He looked down at his sub, who had fallen asleep on him just a few hours ago, and now seemed to be forcing himself to be in his arms. “If you would prefer, I could sleep on the couch, or leave entirely…” He knew that he was in Dean’s private space, and honestly he was still a little surprised that Dean had invited him in. If Dean needed him to leave, well, he refused to let it hurt. He would respect Dean’s needs, even if he wished the situation were different._ _

__Dean looked up at him, his green eyes wide. “No!” He realized his voice sounded a little bit panicked, and he reined it in. “No… It’s not that dude. I’ve just… never had anyone here before, with me. That’s all. Trying to get my head around it.”_ _

__Cas’ touch was warm on his back, rubbing through his worn tee shirt. “Take all the time that you need,” he said earnestly. “If there is anything I can do to help?”_ _

__Dean smiled, and already felt himself relaxing a little bit. Cas’ desire to put Dean first was still novel, and Dean couldn’t get enough of it. “Keep doing that, dude,” he said taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “That feels really good.”_ _

__Cas smiled and nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of Dean’s head. “Of course, Dean.” His hand moved rhythmically, up and down. Beneath the soft fabric, he thought he felt… ridges, like scars. Now, of course, was not the right time to ask about them, but he filed the knowledge away for later. As Dean slowly released his tension, Cas moved his hand up to Dean’s neck, rubbing at the tight spasm of muscle there. Dean groaned, and then sighed as the spasm released._ _

__“Man… That felt awesome…”_ _

__Cas chuckled and pressed another kiss into Dean’s hair. “Sometime I will give you a full body massage. Given the state of your neck, I can only assume the rest of you will be equally as tense.”_ _

__Dean frowned. “Isn’t that my job? Giving massages and shit?” Why would _Cas_ be giving the massages?_ _

__Castiel blinked, shaking his head. “Not exclusively. Why would it be?” He was equally puzzled by Dean’s reaction, and rubbed firmly along Dean’s spine again. “Dean… Taking care of you is important to me. I enjoy doing things that make you feel good.”_ _

__He sighed when he saw that Dean was still confused. His sub’s eyes were visibly drooping, though, so Cas kissed his forehead and reached for the lamp. “Perhaps we can discuss this further in the morning? I find myself most fatigued and would love to sleep.”_ _

__Dean nodded and dropped his head back to Castiel’s shoulder in the darkness. “G’night, Cas,” he said sleepily. His eyes closed, though he still seemed to be carrying some tension in his neck and shoulders. Because it seemed to have worked earlier, Cas resumed his rhythmic stroking along Dean’s shoulders. He kissed his forehead and once more and rested his head down on the pillow._ _

__Dean sighed and relaxed just a little. He was warm and for the second time, felt safe in the arms of his dom. It was a baffling feeling, but it was nice, and he could hear Cas’ heartbeat under his ear. The rhythmic thud was almost perfectly in time with the stroking along his back, and before Dean realized what was happening, he was asleep._ _

__The next morning, Dean awoke slowly. He yawned, stretching out into the open space next to him. He hadn’t slept so well in years, certainly not in recent memory. It had been unexpectedly nice not to sleep alone… His mind came to a juddering stop when it registered that he _was_ alone. No Cas in the bed; the pillow was cold. He’d been gone a long time._ _

__His stomach dropped, a cold knot of dread and regret building in his gut. _Of course_ Cas was gone. Why would he stick around? They hadn’t even _done_ anything. No incentive, no reason for Dean to think he would still be there, keeping him warm and safe. God. That was a terrible fantasy anyway. There’s a reason, he reminded himself, that you don’t bring people home._ _

__His panic attack was cut short, though the tightness in his belly remained, when he heard an unfamiliar noise coming from the area of his kitchen. He sat bolt upright and slid out of bed, heading toward the noise. In the kitchen, Cas stood at the stove, whisking a bowl of eggs. The last of his bell peppers and onions sizzled in the pan, and he could see the block of cheddar from his last apple pie sitting on the counter. His stomach gave another mighty clench, and then he relaxed marginally._ _

__Cas was dressed in his own clothes, and his hair looked damp. He must have showered, because Dean couldn’t see any paint splatters on his skin. He stood now barefoot in front of the stove, and Dean swallowed hard. The panic he’d felt was slowly receding. He took another step forward, assessing the room. The dishes in the sink from the pie he’d made the day before had been washed and placed neatly in the dish drain, and the books were neatly stacked on the end of the table._ _

__A hot spike of panic shot through him when he realized the books had been moved. He must have made some noise, because Cas set down the bowl of eggs and turned around. “Dean! Good morning.”_ _

__He smiled and stepped toward him, crossing the distance in just a few steps. “Did you sleep well, Pretty?” He hugged Dean and kissed his lips softly before stepping back. “I hope you don’t mind, but I availed myself of your shower. I had not done so yesterday and… Is something wrong, Pretty?”_ _

__Dean’s mind was skittering at a wild pace. What had Cas seen? What had they been open to? He couldn’t remember where he’d left it off and what Cas might have read. He opened his mouth but then closed it again; he couldn’t find the words to explain the panic surging through his chest._ _

__Cas rubbed his back, and then must have realized where Dean was looking, at the pile of books on the table. “Oh, yes…Interesting reading, for the little I glanced at them. I was setting the table and I had to move them.” He smiled reassuringly and pulled away. “I was not prying, I promise… I merely marked the pages with paper towel and put them aside so that we can sit at the table to eat.”_ _

__Dean blinked as the words penetrated his brain. “You… didn’t read them?”_ _

__Cas shook his head as he headed toward the stove again. “No. I glanced at a few pages as I was marking them… They were very interesting reading, but I would never snoop through your things uninvited.”_ _

__He whisked his eggs again and then poured them into the pan. “I hope omelets are alright for breakfast? You were still sleeping so I thought I might offer you breakfast in bed; then I thought you would prefer to eat at the table because you do not seem the type to eat in your room. Seeing as you are awake now, however, we can simply eat together.”_ _

__Dean practically sagged with relief and confusion. “Uh, yeah… I mean, you didn’t have to make me breakfast. I coulda cooked us something…”_ _

__Cas smiled as he prodded the eggs to ensure they were cooking correctly. “Of course you could have.” He spoke matter of factly, as though the question was of no consequence, without looking up from the pan._ _

__Dean’s stomach clenched as he watched Cas moving so deftly at the stove. This was _wrong_. It was one thing in someone else’s house, but here, in his own house, he was not supposed to be waited on by his dom! He was the sub, it was _his_ job to do the cooking and the clean up. He sidled up to Cas, snaking out a hand for the spatula that Cas was using to tend the eggs. “I can do that,” he said again, looking down at the eggs. “You shouldn’t have to… I mean, it’s not…”_ _

__“Proper?” Cas finished with a grin as he gently wrestled the spatula out of Dean’s hand again. “Is that what you meant?” He chuckled, a warm sound that unclenched the knot in Dean’s stomach a little. “Well, it is with me. After I got up to shower, I decided that it was time to eat. You were sleeping so soundly, I thought it only _proper_ to find you some breakfast so you could rest a little more.”_ _

__“I just… I can do it, Cas,” he protested, though he didn’t reach for the spatula again. Cas seemed to be not interested in handing over the help of the stove, despite Dean’s best efforts._ _

__Cas just grinned up at him. “I know you can, Dean. But you’re going to have to trust my cooking for now, all right?”_ _

__Dean blushed a little. He watched Cas for a few more minutes before going to the cabinet to get out the coffee. His hands needed to be busy, and anyway, he needed to get a hold of himself. Cas was so unlike anyone he knew. He put it down to their being soulmates that he was as willing to trust as he was; he hadn’t yet figured out if that was a good thing or a bad thing._ _

__Unfortunately, it didn’t take long to make the coffee, and then he was faced with puttering around his own kitchen while Cas cooked. That was a very uncomfortable proposition. It was bad enough in Sam’s house as a guest, but in his own place? “Is there, uh, anything I can do to help?” Anything to break the bizarre tension he didn’t know what to do with, and to ease the feeling of _uselessness_ in his own kitchen._ _

__Cas looked over his shoulder as he plated the first omelet. “I have not yet gone looking for bread, but now would be a good time to start toast, if you were interested?”_ _

__Dean nodded, relieved to have something to do, and went to the bread box to pull out the bread. “One piece or two?”_ _

__“I will have just one, thank you, Pretty,” Cas said, attention still on the vegetables he was cooking for the second omelet. Dean nodded and slotted three pieces of bread into the toaster. While they toasted he got the butter and orange juice out of the fridge, and set the cups and silverware on the table._ _

__The coffee pot puttered out the last few drops and Dean turned to the counter to pour. “How do you take your coffee?”_ _

__“Light and sweet, if you can?” Cas smiled. “Just shy of milk and sugar.”_ _

__Dean laughed, detouring back to the fridge to get the milk out. “Why am I not surprised, mister triple chocolate milkshake?” Having a goal seemed to have broken the tension, and Dean relaxed as he prepared two cups of coffee, one very light and sweet for Cas, and black for himself. By the time the toast popped, Dean had set the rest of the table up and turned with the mugs of coffee to pass one to Cas._ _

__“Yes, well, we cannot all be as simple and unaffected as you,” Cas teased as he plated the second omelet, then took the coffee from Dean._ _

__“Simple and unaffected? That’s what you’re going with?” Dean snorted, “Really?” His brows bounced, getting into the teasing. “I'm not sure that's a compliment.”_ _

__“Oh, it is!” Cas' brows furrowed, “I assure you, Dean, uncomplicated, unaffected, that describes you to a tee.”_ _

__Dean worked through that for a moment, deliberate and intentional. “Huh! _Uncomplicated_ ,” he frowned slightly as he nodded, “I kinda like that... the uncomplicated part, not so sure about the _simple_.”_ _

__Cas took a sip of the coffee Dean handed him, “Perfect,” he smiled, “just like you.”_ _

__Dean flushed as he took the mug back so he could step away and follow Cas to the table. “Perfect I’ll take,” he said teasingly. He stood beside the head of the table, pulling out the chair for his dom. “I’m still not entirely sure of your sanity, but I’ll take perfect.”_ _

__Cas joined him with two plates of eggs and sat down in the chair Dean offered, eyeing the three pieces of golden toast. “You have great skill with the toaster, Dean,” he complimented. “Without fail, regardless of setting, I end up with either charcoal, or barely warm bread. Perfect coffee _and_ toast, how lucky can I be?”_ _

__Dean’s flush darkened as he slid into a chair opposite him. “Well, if _I’m_ perfect, then you must be perfect. I mean, I don’t think I’ve had an omelet in like, a year. And… Well, thanks for making me breakfast.” Even if it had galled at first to watch Cas cooking _for_ him, he could admit that Cas made him feel… cherished, when he did things like make Dean breakfast._ _

__Cas’ smile spread and he reached for Dean’s hand, giving a quick squeeze before starting to prepare his toast, adding butter thickly on the piece he’d requested. He glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eye. “You are welcome, Dean,” he said, wondering if Dean perhaps was waiting for the encouragement to eat. “Aren’t you hungry?”_ _

__“Uh, yeah…” Dean toyed with his omelet, then pushed the salt and pepper closer to Cas. “I’ll eat.”_ _

__Cas raised an eyebrow. “It’ll be better when it is hot, Dean,” he said, reaching for the salt absent mindedly and shaking it over his eggs._ _

__“No, no, I know,” Dean said as he reached for the bottle of orange juice. “D’ you want juice?”_ _

__Cas looked up at him. “Please,” he said, narrowing his eyes a little bit. “And then _eat_. I don’t want it to get cold.”_ _

__Dean frowned down at the juice. “I’ll eat,” Dean said, running a finger along the top of the glass before pouring a serving and passing the cup across. “When you do.” He couldn’t bring himself to look up at Cas, and instead focused on pouring his own orange juice. “I might not have the best manners, but I at least know enough to know to let the dom eat first.”_ _

__Cas’ stomach clenched uncomfortably as the ramifications of Dean’s words hit him. He took a deliberate bite of eggs, tasting like ash in his mouth, and washed it down with a swallow of orange juice, making sure to scrape his fork on his plate and tap the cup as it went down so Dean knew he’d eaten. “Dean,” he said, grimacing as his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and started again. “Dean, you never have to wait for me.”_ _

__Dean squeezed his knee to center himself, took a deep breath and then looked up at Cas. “I don’t get you, man,” he said. His voice shook, and he hated himself for it. “I mean… Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate… everything. It’s just that I really kind of feel lost here. What am I supposed to do if every time I think I’m getting it right, I’m actually getting it wrong?”_ _

__Cas got the impression that Dean _never_ would have said such a thing if he hadn’t been alone and safe on his own turf. He silently thanked whatever God there was for helping him to be here for this moment. “You aren’t getting it wrong,” he said, reaching across the table for Dean’s free hand. “Thank you for being honest with me about what you are feeling. Please know… I want us to be partners in this. In anything. That includes making our own rules for propriety. I would never want you to wait for me to eat, unless that was really what _you_ wanted. The same with sitting, or sleeping, or anything. Unless we had decided before, together, that we wanted such a thing for a scene.”_ _

__Dean looked away. He hated how insecure he felt, how little he knew about all of this. John would never have stood for this ‘partners’ stuff. Eating before his dom, allowing him to cook or clean or _anything_ just felt wrong. But he could tell that it was important to Cas, and Dean wanted that, too. He did. Just knowing Cas had been there last night had allowed him to sleep better, more deeply, than he had in years. He would be lying if he hadn’t dreamed of a dom that _cared_ about him, his wants and desires. That said, he hadn’t actually expected to _find_ one, and it was kind of jarring._ _

__“Please, Dean,” Cas said, his voice hopeful and a little pleading. “Eat your omelet. I made it for you so that you will be nourished for the day with Sam and your mother. Allow me to take care of you this way?”_ _

__Dean looked back up at Cas, and allowed a shaky smile to come to his lips. “Sure thing, Cas.” He watched as Cas took another bite of the omelet, forking it onto his toast to eat._ _

__Dean followed suit, and remembering the milkshakes in an attempt to lighten the mood, gave an exaggerated groan as he bit into the eggs. Cas laughed, shaking his head at Dean’s outrageous behavior. “See? I told you that you could trust my cooking.” He teased._ _

__Dean grinned a little more genuinely, and nodded. “Yeah, you did,” he agreed. He settled in to eating, his stomach loosening a little from the knot of fear it had been in. Cas seemed to be watching him, but Dean didn’t mind. It was strange being the subject of such intense observation, but Cas never seemed to be anything _but_ intense. “This is really good, honestly. Thanks.”_ _

__Cas smiled and squeezed Dean’s hand again. “You are welcome, Dean. Any time. What time are you meeting Sam and your mother?”_ _

__Dean blinked. “Uh… I didn’t actually check. But probably not until noon ish? Those kinds of car shows go all day. I’ll text Sam when we’re done eating.”_ _

__“That sounds good. In that case, we might have a few hours, if you thought you’d like to do something?”_ _

__Normally after a stressful day, or a shift at the bar, Dean found himself hiding out at home. He needed to decompress after all the stress of being ‘Pretty’ for the masses. “Uhm... Usually I just stay home on my days off… It’s nice to be able to just veg out a little, you know?”_ _

__Cas nodded. “I do. Perhaps we could stay in and watch a movie?”_ _

__Dean flushed. “You don’t have to stay in just because I said that. We can do something…”_ _

__“Dean, I do not mind spending the time here. As I have said, any time with you is a boon. I merely want to make you comfortable.”_ _

__Dean took another bite of his eggs to hide his discomfort. A slurp of coffee, and then he nodded faintly. ‘If you really don’t mind, I would appreciate staying here. My batteries need a serious recharge before I go out.”_ _

__“That would be fine with me,” Cas said, and then took the last swallow of his orange juice. He reached out, as he had so often done, and rubbed Dean’s foot with his own. “Do not rush for my sake, Pretty.” He smiled. “We have all the time we need.”_ _

__Dean looked up, and his chest gave a little flip. “Thanks, Cas.” He settled into eat his own eggs, finally giving in to the hunger he felt. Knowing that they weren’t going out right away made him feel like he could finally just relax. Why hadn’t he invited Cas over sooner? Suddenly the idea of curling up on that couch, Cas behind him and his strong arms wrapped around him wasn’t such a wild one. Maybe John _had_ been wrong all those years ago, and there was a chance for Dean to be an okay sub. Maybe not a great one, but he could shoot for okay. Cas didn’t seem to mind, and Dean was alright with that._ _


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> Once again, thanks for all the great reviews and for sticking around as long as you have! Here's the next chapter (kind of an interlude, with Dean and Cas). Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Dare

Dean finished eating and then pulled out his phone to text Sam. By the time he finished writing, he realized Cas was picking up the dishes. "Woah, hey, you cooked, I clean up. That's only fair."

Cas raised an eyebrow as he picked up the last of the dishes and carried them to the sink. “We both ate, Dean,” he said with a small frown. “Why would I not help to clean up?”

“But you did the cooking!” Dean protested as he stood, heading to the kitchen sink. He started the water, looking over at Cas. “Just… sit down. I can do these.”

“You did the coffee and the toast,” Cas reminded him, his voice firm and unyielding. “We both cooked, we both ate, and now we’re both going to do the dishes. Dean… Let me help you. Please?”

The water was running nearly full and Dean was running out of reasons to keep Cas from helping. He bowed his head in defeat when Cas spoke again. “The sooner the dishes are done, the sooner we can be watching a movie.” He smiled at Dean and took the washcloth from the edge of the sink. “Four hands are better than two, after all.”

Dean sighed and nodded. “Alright, fine,” he said, shaking his head a little bit. “If you really want to. Uh, you can wash, I guess, and I’ll dry, since I know where everything goes.” 

“That sounds logical, Dean,” Cas said. He doused the first dish without hesitation and began to scrub. Dean took the dishes as he finished them, stacking them neatly in cupboards and under the countertop, until Cas had washed the last dish. He didn’t speak; he was too busy being baffled. Why was Cas doing this? It was bad enough on Sam’s turf to sit on his hands and let the doms clean up, but here? In his own house? It was downright uncomfortable, even though he was helping. It was _his_ job, and Cas didn’t seem to want to let him do it.

The job didn’t take long, since there were only two of them and it was a pretty simple meal. When he put away the last piece of silverware, Dean wiped down the table and the counters while Cas rinsed the sink out, then lay the washcloth out to dry.

“See?” Cas’ smile was sunny, which made Dean only feel worse about not wanting his help to begin with. “Many hands make short work.” He dried his hand on the dish cloth Dean had just hung up, and then squeezed Dean’s shoulder. “Now, what movie do you think we should watch?”

Dean blinked at him. “Uh… I don’t know. I was thinking… Maybe western? Would that be okay?” He felt his stomach clench, still out of sorts from not being able to do the disehes and continue his routine as normal. This day was all kinds of crazy already, and it had barely started! If that was how things were going to go, Dean wasn’t sure how well he was going to manage.

Cas’ smile never seemed to falter, though, and he nodded. “That sounds wonderful, Dean. I’m sure whatever you pick will be fine. After all, it _is_ to help you relax. So don’t worry about me, I am certain I will enjoy whatever you select.”

Dean’s stomach flopped again. It seemed like quite a bit of pressure; he didnt even really know what kind of movies Cas liked. Would it kill the man to have an opinion? Dean appreciated how Cas seemed to want to put him first but it was unsettling. It wasn’t something he’d ever experienced and it made him nervous. “So not helping here, dude,” he said, aiming for a note of teasing. He wasn’t sure if he’d pulled it off. “Alright, so whatever I pick is okay, that’s what I’m getting, so I’m… Just gonna pick something. Why don’t you go sit down on the couch and I’ll be right out?”

The books out in the living room were weird, but he didn’t think they were anything Cas could get into _too_ much trouble reading. He hoped. 

“That sounds fine, Pretty,” Cas said, and the nickname settled something in Dean he hadn’t been aware was off. If _he_ was still Pretty, that meant Cas was still Angel, and somehow that meant everything was still okay. No matter how weird it went, this was still the guy he fell for at the bar. 

They split ways at the entrance to the hallway, Dean ducking back to the bedroom while Cas went to the couch.The young man settled on the cushions, surprised to find them softer than expected; it seemed likely that Dean had done some repair work on the thing at some point or another. He smiled at the thought, enjoying the idea of Dean taking such good care of all his possessions, and sat in the corner so that there would be plenty of space for Dean to join him when he returned.

In his room, Dean closed the door softly and took a moment to change his clothes. It felt strange to be hanging out when Cas was fully dressed and he was still in his pajamas. Even stranger than having someone in his own private space, if he had to admit it. Dean pulled on a worn pair of jeans and a loose tee shirt. He figured that was good for now; Cas was still barefoot, after all. He hemmed and hawed over his clothes for just a minute more but decided that the old Zep tee would do okay. He reluctantly pulled away from the closet.

Dean was a big enough man to recognize when he was stalling for time, and went to the bookshelf and looked at his selection. Knowing that Cas was sitting out in the living room without him, with all his books, spurred Dean to pick something and go. Cas said he didn’t care, and Dean wasn’t sure if he believed him but since he hadn’t expressed an opinion Dean just decided to pick something mindless. Cowboys and Aliens; perfect. Harrison Ford played a killer dom in everything he did, and Daniel Craig’s equal macho behavior was great. The fact that the movie itself was downright ridiculous was just part of the fun. Maybe he’d be able to forget some of the unease still swirling in his gut. On a whim, he grabbed a sweater out of his closet; it was getting a little chilly, and he wanted the security that the weight of a heavy sweater provided. He shimmied it on over his head before he headed out to join Cas. 

He relaxed marginally when he came out to find Cas sitting on the couch. He hadn’t touched anything, that Dean could tell. Even the salt line was still intact in front of the door. The artist looked up when Dean walked into the room, smiling warmly. “Ah, Dean. What do you have for us?”

Dean held the case out for Cas’ inspection as he neared the couch. “Cowboys and Aliens… Like Cowboys and Indians, get it? I hope you don’t mind scifi? Or, uh, westerns. It’s kinda both.”

Cas took the case, flipping it over and reading the back. Then he handed the DVD back to Dean and settled onto the couch. “That sounds very interesting,” he agreed. “Why don’t you start it, and come sit with me?”

Dean felt himself smiling back as he took the movie and went to the TV. He had lost track of the number of times he’d dreamed of this very situation. Cas wanted to watch a movie, and cuddle on his couch… And unlike all the times he’d dreamed about doing it with _Castiel_ , he had _Cas_ with him, and that was pretty cool.

It only took a minute to get everything hooked up and the movie started. When Dean turned around, Cas had shifted on the couch to give him space. He opened his arms, but Dean hesitated. “Do you want a drink or something? More coffee?” 

Cas shook his head, and reached to take Dean’s hand, tugging him gently toward the couch. “No, Dean. I just would like you to join me. I’m fine, I promise.” He smiled and so Dean went a little more willingly, sliding onto the cushion into his arms. It felt strange to settle onto his couch and into someone’s embrace instead of leaning against the back, but he wasn’t going to complain. He loved it.

Dean rested his head on Cas’ shoulder as the film began to play. Cas wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist, and his hand found Dean’s wrist again. “That feels nice,” Dean murmured before he realized it was coming out. Cas just grinned and pressed a kiss to Dean’s temple.

“I am glad,” he said as his thumb slid under Dean’s cuff, rubbing like it had the night before. They sat for a few minutes in silence, watching as Daniel Craig single handedly fought off the gang of bandits who were attempting to steal the little that he had. 

“I can see why you like this movie,” Cas said teasingly, a little while in. “I believe the term usually used is… eye candy?”

Dean grinned, nodding as he sprawled against Cas’ chest a little more loosely. He was warm, and full, and comfortable. The little bit of teasing was just right. This felt a lot more like a date than their night before had been. “Yeah… Daniel Craig is pretty awesome.”  
Dean, it turned out, wasn’t a quiet movie watcher. Cas watched in tolerant amusement as Dean grew more and more excited through the movie. He was shouting insults at Harrison Ford, squirming with excitement during the battle scenes, and then fell silent when Harrison assured the young Indian sub that worked with his son that, ‘he’d always wished to have a son like him’. Cas hugged him a little more tightly then, kissing his forehead softly. Cas could see in Dean’s eyes how much he wished he’d heard something like that before. It made his heart ache. He rubbed Dean’s wrist more firmly in response. Damn John Winchester to Hell.

The credits rolled a little later, and Dean grinned. “See? Good movie, huh?” He was settled in a loose sprawl against Cas’ chest, lazy and comfortable. Cas stroked his arm idly, nodding.

“Yes, it was.” He kissed Dean’s temple again, not really wanting to disrupt this comfortable moment together. They sat in silence for a little while, just enjoying each other’s company. Finally Cas spoke. 

“Dean… I would like to ask you about the dishes,” he said tentatively.

Dean tensed, and focused his attention firmly on the screen, where the menu still played on a loop. “What about them? I told you, doing the dishes is my job.” He swallowed hard and clenched his free hand against his knee. “I don’t get what’s so weird about wanting to do my job.”

Cas’ thumb rubbing never faltered, and he leaned forward to kiss Dean on the temple again. “Easy, Dean, easy,” he soothed. “I am not criticizing. I merely want to understand what is going on in your head.” 

“What’s going on in my head.” Dean fought to keep the defensive note out of his voice. “What’s going on in my head is that the house is _my_ job. Cooking, dishes… I don’t get why you don’t get it.”

Cas frowned, his eyes narrowing at the defensive tone. He didn’t want to start a fight, but he couldn’t allow a self-destructive train of thought to linger if he could help it. “I… Understand that you have been doing things alone for a long time. But what is my job, then?” He allowed the confusion into his voice. “As we are entering into a more permanent relationship, I certainly do not feel comfortable having _no_ duties. If your job is the house, what is my role?”

Dean frowned a little. He was glad his position kept him from having to meet Cas’ eyes. “Well, obviously you’re going to have to work… That’s hard enough. And, you know, tell me what needs to be done…” After all, John had never left him without a list to be accomplished. The few other doms he’d had in high school had liked to give him jobs, or their homework, or any number of other menial tasks to keep him occupied. 

“And what about _your_ job, Dean? I mean your _paying_ jobs, both of them, that you enjoy? Are you proposing that you would work six or seven days a week _and_ do _all_ of the housework?” Cas didn’t try to keep the challenge out of his voice, though he did temper it a little so he didn’t make Dean think he was angry with _him_. 

Dean hesitated just a moment, but the tension was still in his voice when he answered. “I’d make it work,” he said. “I mean, you’d deserve to relax when you got home, not worry about all the shit around the house and stuff…” 

Dean’s words sent a spiral of sickness through Cas’ stomach. How could his wonderful, intelligent sub be so unaware of his own worth? “Dean, you _deserve_ time to rest too. There is no reason why you and I could not share the chores.” Dean’s frown showed Cas that his boyfriend really didn’t agree with that, for some reason. He decided to take another tactic. “So… humor me,” he said. “Imagine we moved in together. Walk me through a day, a typical day?”

Dean seemed puzzled by the comment, but he eventually nodded and shrugged. “A typical day. Okay, well… I guess it’d start with me getting up and gettin’ a shower. Then I could start breakfast and make the bed while you showered. After we ate I could do the dishes… I’d pack us lunches. We’d go to work. You could drop me off at the garage… I mean, if you still wanted me to work there. And then we’d come home… You could relax while I made dinner. While dinner was cookin’, I’d probably run the sweeper. After dinner we could… watch a movie or something. While it was on I could throw in some laundry. Maybe…” He swallowed hard. “We could Scene before bed, if you wanted. And then we’d go to bed.”

The horror grew in Cas with every word that came from Dean’s lips. He felt nauseated at the matter of fact tone that Dean was using, like that was what he’d always expected out of a relationship. If the parody he was detailing could even be called a relationship. He took a few shallow breaths through his nose, trying to calm his stomach. He must have been quiet too long, because Dean squirmed in his hold, turning to look at him. “Cas? Are you okay? You’re really pale.”

Cas swallowed down the nausea and nodded. “Yes, Dean,” he said, though he could feel that his voice was shaking. “I am fine… I just… Need a moment.” He was somewhat surprised to feel Dean’s thumb slide under his cuff the same way his had been doing all morning. The soothing rub brought him out of his spiral of disgust quickly, because he realized he was frightening Dean. He huffed out a breath, trying to center himself. “Dean. Do you really think I’m… That I would be capable of that? Letting you do all of the work, Sceneing only if I wanted to? Dean, that isn’t a partnership.”

Dean looked a little bit confused, but mostly concerned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, man. I mean, I know we’re not usual, what with me working and all, but there’s nothing wrong with… Well, I mean, a lot of people don’t like subs to work, so if you don’t want me to that’s okay. I... “

“Dean, no!” Dean winced at the sharpness in Cas’ tone, and Cas took a deep breath. “Dean,” he said more calmly. “You love your jobs. I’ve seen you at the bar, and how easily you work with customers. And I’ve seen how you talk about cars, how your face lights up.” He motioned at the pile of parts around them. “How you must have great skill with your hands to experiment so.” He smiled shakily. “I would _never_ ask you to give those things up. Never. And you don’t need to, to pander to me. I want a _partner_ out of life, not a servant.”

Dean’s free hand fidgeted with the hem of his sweater, and he didn’t look up when he spoke. “I don’t get you,” he said slowly. “You’re just nothing like anyone that I’ve ever met. I don’t get why this is upsetting you so much. Subs and doms are different, everyone knows that. And there’s an order to things, there always has been. So why do you mind so much that I’m just trying to go with the flow?”

“Because it isn’t _you_ ,” Cas said, his voice purposely soft and gentle so he wouldn’t spook Dean. 

“What isn’t me?” Dean’s confusion was telegraphed across his face as he finally turned to meet Cas’ eyes again.

“Acting like a _servant_ ,” Cas said, his voice firmer than before. “Do you _want_ to be a servant, Dean?” He straightened from his slouch into the corner of the couch, his eyes laser focused on Dean.

“What? No, I mean, I’m a sub, but I’m not a maid.” Dean’s indignation was almost palpable, and Cas had to fight the urge to sigh with relief. There was the Dean he had fallen in love with. Now if he could just get Dean to believe it, to keep that spark alive, then they would be in business.

“No, you aren’t. And yet, somehow when you describe your so called ‘duties’ to me, they seem to be that you will be waiting on your dom hand and foot. Your ‘typical’ day includes waking up early to work before work, then going to work, and then coming home to work some more. You sound like you’re going above and beyond, every second, to meet not just my needs, but my whims. Where, exactly, in that time are _your_ needs being met?”

Dean blinked, that confusion still obvious in his face. “I’m a sub,” he said again, as though it were the only sure thing in his life. Maybe it was. “My needs are met by meeting yours, aren’t they? I mean, John always used to give me lists, and the couple other doms I’ve had always had orders for me…”

Cas frowned and cut him off. “Dean,” he said firmly. “You still have not told me how _your_ needs will be met. In that whole, _typical_ day, you haven’t given me one time when _your_ needs are separate from mine. When your needs would be met individually.”

Dean shifted a little bit on the couch, fidgeting with his cuff again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, blushing a bit. He knew his needs were secondary to Cas’, knew that he had expectations to follow. The sub’s job was to make sure his dom’s needs were met, period, end of story.

“Dean, do you think I want to have a slave in my life?” The question was almost absent minded, but Cas’ eyes still felt much too sharp on the back of his head. Dean shook his head mutely. No, Cas said many times that he wanted a partner. He just didn’t understand what that meant.

“No,” Cas continued after a moment when Dean didn’t speak. “I don’t. I want a _partner_ , Dean. I want someone who is capable of seeing to their own needs, of pushing back when I’m too lost in my work to remember to eat.” He looked over at his Dean, smiling slightly. “I want someone to gift me with submission without losing himself. I know you can do that, Dean, but you need to break away from the _poison_ your father put in your head.”

Dean bristled. “I thought we weren’t talking about John,” he said, his eyes coming up from his sleeve. 

“I don’t want to,” Cas retorted. “But I _do_ want to talk about you. You’re such a strong man, Dean, but I want to be able to take care of you, too.” He squeezed Dean’s hand. “You don’t want to acknowledge your own needs, but they’re there. Would you let me try to do that? Tell me what _you_ need, Dean, so I can take care of you?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what you’re _talking about,_ ” he said with a tone of annoyance. “You’re a dom, I’m a sub. My needs are met meeting yours. Haven’t you ever watched a subflick, dude?”

Cas heaved a sigh. “Dean, I want to know about your needs as a person. Not a sub, not a servant, as a _person._ Movies aren’t an accurate reflection of life, you know. They are highly romanticized, and frankly, often offensive in their portrayals of relationships.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, of course I know that,” he said, and hunched his shoulders a little. “I just don’t get why this is so important right now, dude.” He shook his head. “I mean, come on. I just wanted to wash the dishes. What’s so hard about that?”

Cas fought down the urge to sigh again, and instead shifted across the couch so he could pull Dean into his arms. “It isn’t about the dishes, Dean,” he said gently, softly rubbing Dean’s shoulders with his thumbs, cursing the tension he saw there. If only this hadn’t been so important; he wished he could give Dean one day where he didn’t feel like he needed to be constantly on guard. 

“It’s the fact that you feel a _need_ to do the dishes because you think it’s your duty to do so. That the very idea that I might be willing, be _happy_ to help, to _want_ to help…” He trailed off and took a deep breath. “I do not want a servant, Dean, I want a partner, and I want to meet your needs, and support you…” He dropped his head down to rest his forehead against the side of Dean’s head. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” His lips brushed Dean’s ear, and he kissed him gently on the temple. 

Dean slumped. “No,” he said, though he let himself turn into Cas’ shoulder a little bit. “I really don’t. I’m a _sub_ , Cas, _your_ sub. Your needs are my needs, and my needs are met when yours are. That’s what being a sub _is_ , right? I want to meet the needs of my dom, Cas. That’s what I need to do. But I’ve never been very good at that. And then you keep saying you want a partner, and I don’t get that. I mean, how is that even… logical?”

Cas winced as he listened to Dean speak; it was obvious that something was missing. Damn John Winchester to a special Hell for the damage he’d done to his son. “You don’t see it, do you Dean?” He kept his voice gentle, because he didn’t want Dean to misinterpret the anger he had at John Winchester as to be at him. “How a sub can be a partner?” 

Dean shook his head, squirming a little bit. “No, I guess I don’t.” He picked at a stray thread on the hem of his shirt, tugging until it loosened up and came off in his hand. “I just… I want to be a good sub,” he said, his voice a broken whisper. “I want to be good for you, and I don’t get what you want. I want to be good, and not screw it up.” He stared at his hand, twirling the broken thread in his fingers idly before he went back to picking at the hem. He held himself stiffly, as though he was resisting resting his head on Cas’ shoulder again.

Cas reached out and tipped his face up. He needed to see Dean’s eyes, to know that his words were making it through. “You _are_ a good sub, Dean. I am proud of you, and all you do every day. But I want to be a good dom for you, too, and for us to be awesome partners.” He smiled warmly, rubbing his thumb along the stubble on Dean’s cheek. “Would you like to do that with me, Dean?

A small matching smile touched Dean’s lips, and he nodded slowly. “I’d like that,” he agreed. “But… We’ve got time, right?” Cas’ heart broke a little bit at the hesitance in Dean’s voice, the surety that he was going to be rejected for his lack of expertise. “For you to teach me to be good for you?”

Cas smiled and kissed him again, this time softly on the lips. “Yes, Dean,” he said firmly as he ended the kiss. “We have all the time we need. You’re already good for me, and we have all the time we need to be good together.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> Once again, thanks for being so patient.
> 
> Here's a new chapter. JUST so everyone knows, this is my official NaNoWriMo story this year. That means I'm committing myself to writing 1667 words a day (at minimum) of this story. I hope that will translate to a faster update schedule, and to getting me to a better writing habit! However, that also means that chapters in the month of November are going to be less beta'd than usual. I hope you don't mind. :)
> 
> Here's one that was written over the last few weeks (plus today and yesterday's NaNo).
> 
> Enjoy!!

Sam woke to the smell of pancakes and bacon. He rolled onto his side, where usually Jess was nestled, but found the bed cold and empty. Groaning, he sat up and pushed himself out of the bed, absently scratching his hip. He padded barefoot into the kitchen, to find his sub and his mother standing side by side with the pancakes in a quickly growing stack next to the range. The bacon sizzled in a pan next to it, its salty scent enticingly filling the air.

Jess was dressed in her Smurf pajamas and her pink “Trust me, I’m a doctor” apron that Sam had given her for Christmas, and was contentedly working on spreading the bacon in the pan. She looked up when Sam walked in and handed Mary the spatula so she could come over and stand on her tip toes to give Sam a kiss. “Hey sweetie! You weren’t supposed to wake up!” She chided teasingly, smacking him on the arm. “Mom and I were making a surprise breakfast!” 

“Oww,” Sam said with a laugh, rubbing his arm. “Well, I can go back to bed if you want…?”

Jess snorted and went back over to Mary to flip the bacon. “Uh, _no_. Now that you’re up… First, go put a shirt on! Your mother’s here, what are you thinking? Then get your cute ass back out here and make the coffee and prove to your mom that you _do_ know how to use the machine. If you’re going to wake up and ruin my surprise, you can at least be useful.”

Laughing, Sam nodded. “Yes ma’am,” he said, then waved sheepishly at Mary. “Morning mom. I’ll, uh, be right back.”

Mary was laughing, prodding the edge of a pancake to see if it was ready. “That sounds fine, Sam,” she said, flipping the pancake so its golden brown bottom layer was on top. 

Sam chuckled and turned to head back to his room. He tossed on the first tee shirt he found, figuring he had to shower and dress later anyway, and snagged his cell to stick in his pocket before he padded back out. “Okay, now then, coffee?”

“That would be good,” Mary said. “I know you knew how to use the coffee pot at my house, so I trust that law school hasn’t _totally_ fried your brain in things practical.”

“Ah-hah, ah-hah, very funny,” Sam grumped playfully as he pulled out the beans and grinder. The whirring crunch of the beans overlaid the sound of the bacon frying. Within a few minutes he had filled the pot and the heady scent of coffee joined the sweet pancakes and the savory bacon. 

Sam set the table while he waited for the coffee to brew, then filled three mugs while Mary and Jess finished plating the food. Sam shuttled the butter and syrup to the table, and the three of them sat down.

“Mm… This all looks great,” Sam said as he slathered his pancakes with butter. He lifted a foot under the table to rub Jess’ ankle. “Thanks for trying to surprise me with breakfast.” 

“You’re welcome, babe,” she said, pouring syrup and then passing the bottle to Mary. “Did you sleep well?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, it was great… Those steaks really knocked me out last night. What about you mom? You sleep ok?”

Mary nodded around a bit of pancake and spoke after she swallowed. “Yes, thank you. And when I came out this morning, Jess was already starting breakfast, so I thought I’d help.”

Sam took a big bite of his pancakes, chewing thoughtfully. “Has anyone seen Cas?” He asked after he swallowed, glancing down the hallway. “I didn’t hear him come in last night.”

Mary and Jess each shook their heads, and Jess smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Sam, I’m sure he’s okay. He’ll text or something. Anyway, he took Dean home. I’m sure they’re together.”

“Wow… You think?” Sam looked a little surprised. “I mean, I guess that makes sense, but wow. I never even thought about that.” 

Mary laughed, shaking her head and reaching to pat her son’s hand. “Well, he _is_ Dean’s boyfriend, Sam, however new their relationship may be.”

Sam chuckled as he dug into his pancakes with a little more gusto. “I guess you’re right,” he said between bites. “It’s really kinda surreal, actually. I mean, I never really admitted it to Dean but it’s weird that my roommate is dating my not-really-dead brother.”

Mary smiled knowingly. “Yes, well, I think it’s probably stranger for Dean to be dating his brother’s roommate.”

“Touche,” Sam agreed mildly. “So… I don’t know what the plan is. When I talk to Dean we’ll figure it out, I guess. The show goes all day, so we could probably plan to get lunch there, and then go to some of the other family weekend events?

“That sounds great,” Jess agreed. “I’m gonna have to help man the SR table but I’ll walk the car show with you guys and go help out after lunch. I don’t wanna miss out on too much.”

Sam reached out to squeeze her hand. He appreciated her presence; he knew she really was worried about Dean, and how easily he seemed to be overwhelmed. Mary was well meaning but definitely intense. Having another sub around would hopefully ease Dean’s fears in a way that just Cas couldn’t. 

“You’re awesome,” he said, swiping the last of the syrup on his plate up on the last piece of bacon, then stood. “You know what sounds good right now? Pie.” He grinned and headed for the fridge. “You know I love you mom, but I’ve never had a pie as good as the one Dean made.”

Mary laughed. “No offense taken,” she said as Sam reappeared at the table and settled back in his chair with his fork in hand. He dug into the remaining pie as Mary sobered a little. “Dean didn’t need to bring us anything… But it’s reassuring to know that he felt comfortable to bring something.”

Sam shrugged a little. “He… Does that. The first time we had him over, he brought beer. I think it’s kinda new for him, getting invited over. He’s said that he doesn’t really go out much. So I think that he’s kinda following what he thinks he’s _supposed_ to do.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. His father, a term I use _extremely_ loosely, seems like he’s really done a number on that boy.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “He’s definitely a man, mom.” He scraped some of the apple filling off the pie tin, licking the fork clean before continuing. “An uptight, kinda withdrawn and nervous, but clearly generous, man. Who bakes a _mean_ apple pie. He was pretty excited about the car show, though. It was nice to see him excited about going somewhere.”

Mary chuckled, taking a sip of coffee and nodding at Sam. “I saw how quick he was to defend John; I don’t think he really gets how much damage John did. I hope spending some more time together, at the car show, might help us to make some more progress with him.”

Jess leaned over Sam’s shoulder, stealing the last bite of crust from Sam and chewing thoughtfully over his playful yelp. “We should be careful not to overwhelm him,” she said slowly after she’d swallowed. They both looked up at her, and she felt obligated to explain. “Well, being a sub aside, we’re not exactly a sedate group. I mean, he really doesn’t go many places, I don’t think. The campus is gonna be loud, and from what we’ve talked to Dean about, it sounds like he spends a lot of time alone.”

Mary winced. “I hear you, Jess,” she agreed. “That might be a big deal for him. Hopefully he won’t be too pressured.” She patted Jess’ hand. “We’ll just all have to keep our eyes open. And we can always come back to the house, or go somewhere more relaxed to eat.”

“Yeah. Absolutely.” Sam smiled. “You know, I’m just hoping we can get him to relax around us a little bit. I really want to get to know him, but he’s just so uptight… Until he can relax a little, it’s gonna be rough to get to know him.”

Jess nodded. “Yeah. Especially since he’s so concerned about opening up to doms. But I think it’ll be good for him. I’d like us to be a safe space, you know? It’s really easy to get into the routine of just hiding at home, but it’s always better to have someone to vent to. Someone on your side.” She glanced meaningfully at Sam, who chuckled and nodded. 

“I hear you, babe. And you’re right… I mean, my whole life I dreamed about having a big brother. I don’t know how much more on his side I can get.” 

Jess smiled. “As long as we remember that I think we’ll do just fine. Dean’s already showing how brave he is, showing up here more than once. Just don’t get lost in your Sub’s Rights mindset. Remember, there’s a time and place, and Dean’ll make it clear when he’s ready to do something like that, okay?”

Sam stuck out his tongue at her. “I know,” he said. “And I’ll try. But you make sure and tell me if I’m slipping, okay?”

She nodded but before she could answer, Sam’s phone buzzed. “It’s Dean… He wants to know what time we’re getting together. Is noon ok? We could do a quick lunch and walk around the car show?”

“That sounds perfect, Sam,” Mary agreed, so Sam tapped out the message.

“Okay, it’s like… ten. We’ve got like two hours to kill. You guys cooked… I’ll do the dishes if you guys wanna get ready first. I’ll shower after. Sound good?” He stood and began collecting the cookware while the girls finished their breakfast. 

“You shower first, mom,” Jess said firmly. “I’m gonna help Sam load the dishwasher.” 

 

Mary smiled as Sam looked over his shoulder. “Hey! I can do it! Just because you and Cas know your way around the kitchen so much better…”

Jess laughed and stepped up beside her dom. “You’re fine, babe,” she said, going up on tip toes to kiss his cheek. “You’re just completely inept in the kitchen.”

Mary laughed as Sam flushed and opened the dishwasher. “I’ll be right back,” she said. She was used to fast showers on the road, in hotels with shitty water heaters. A ten minute shower in Sam’s apartment? Easy.

Sam bumped Jess with his hip while they jostled for position, pushing the dishes into the slots and dropping silverware in the drawer. “Thanks for coming to the car show with us,” Sam said as they worked. “It means a lot to me, and I think it’ll mean a lot to Dean.”

“Of course I’ll be there, Sam,” she said, going up on tip-toe to kiss his cheek. “I wouldn’t miss it. I want to get to know Dean, you know.”

Sam nodded. “I know you do. That’s one of the things that means the most to me about you, Jess… I love how you fit so seamlessly into my family.” He chuckled, reaching with one damp hand to caress her wrist just above the cuff hiding his name. “I mean, I know my name’s there but that’s not all what we are.” He tugged her closer and kissed her temple. “God. I’m feeling sappy today. Just… Thanks, for being you.”

Jess leaned into him, letting Sam take her weight and comfort from her presence. “You’re welcome, sir,” she said teasingly, dropping her head on his shoulder. “I love you, especially your big heart.” 

They stood there for a minute, just enjoying each other’s presence, and then they heard the shower shut off. Jess pulled away and Sam moved to get the last couple dishes in the washer. “Wear the green jeans today. Do you have a specific shirt you need to wear to man the booth?”

Jess shook her head. “Not really. It can be any of the SRA shirts we’ve made over the last few years. Do you have a preference?” She smiled, relishing their Saturday morning routine. It injected some normalcy into the tense landscape of their changing family. Sam choosing her outfit on the weekends really made her feel like she was carrying him with her all day.

Sam kissed her forehead. “I like that purple one you guys made at the beginning of last semester. They’ll go good with the green jeans, and your purple tennis shoes.”

Jess nodded. It didn’t hurt that Sam was a decent judge of fashion. “That sounds great. I’ll go shower now, meet you back out here? Then we can maybe head up to campus early? I’d like to help setup the fair before we head to the car show.”

“That’s fine,” Sam agreed. “I’ll shower after you and then we can go up.”

Jess smiled and turned to go to their bedroom to get her clothes. “Sounds good. If you finish loading, I’ll start the dishwasher when you get out of the shower.” 

Sam reached her out to smack her butt as she walked past, just to hear her yelp. “Sounds good,” he agreed, as she turned over her shoulder to mock glare, rubbing her rump. She stuck her tongue out at him, and then disappeared down the hallway as he chuckled and turned back to the sink.

By the time he was done loading the dishwasher, Mary had emerged dressed in the outfit Sam remembered from his youth: jeans, tee shirt and flannel. She had pulled her hair back in a ponytail, and all in all reminded Sam more of herself than she had for a while. 

Sam poured her the last of the coffee, topping off her mug, and then sat down across the table from her. “Jess is gonna shower; I’ll go after her and then we’re going to head to the school early so we can help set up the SRA table. Does that sound okay?”

“Sure it does,” she agreed. “I was thinking maybe I’d make a hot chicken salad for dinner? That would feed everyone and it doesn’t take too long. I mean… I’m assuming Dean and Cas are coming back for dinner.”

“Uh, yeah. I mean, I haven’t asked, but probably?” Sam shrugged. “I think we can just ask when we see them at the car show.”

The water shut off in the bathroom; Jess had always been pretty quick in the shower. “Alright, sounds like Jess is done. I’ll be back in a couple minutes and we can go, okay?”

Mary nodded and leaned back in her chair. “That sounds great honey. Go ahead and shower; I’m ready whenever you are.”

Sam nodded and headed into the bedroom to get his clothes and then into the bathroom to shower. He passed Jess, wrapped up her comfortable fluffy robe, and pressed a quick kiss to her damp head as he slipped into the bathroom. “See you in a minute,” he said.

He wasn’t in the bathroom long, taking the quickest shower he could justify, before drying off and dressing to go meet the ladies. He had chosen jeans and an SRA tee, because it felt really good to support Jess. Well, and some primal part of himself liked to match, to make it more obvious to everyone that they were together. He pulled a flannel on over top, because it was probably going to be chilly outside. He’d have to get a jacket for Jess, he thought idly as he headed down the hall again.

The women were laughing about something in the kitchen, and Mary looked up when Sam walked out. He took a moment to admire how the shamrock green jeans hugged Jess’ figure; she was _still_ the most stunning woman he’d ever seen. Mary was the one to speak though, when he entered the room.

“Oh good. Are you ready to go?”

Sam nodded, grabbing his bookbag. “Yeah, let’s head out. I’ve gotta swing by the library to drop these books off, since we’re gonna be there anyway.”

They all piled into Mary’s stationwagon and headed up to the campus. By the time they got there it was already packed since the car show had started at nine, with parking at a premium, and they ended up having to hike nearly a mile to get to campus proper. Sam couldn’t really complain though. It’d been a long time since he’d gotten to hang out with his mom, and it really felt good to get to chat about random things, or point out changes to the campus that she hadn’t seen in a while. 

By the time they got to the SRA booth, they mostly had to help setting up papers and laying out paperweights to keep the pamphlets from blowing away. They laughed with some friends, introducing Mary and letting Jess explain some of the finer points of the club, but as it got closer to twelve, Sam saw how his mother was getting antsy. “Hey mom,” he said finally, twenty minutes before he was supposed to meet Dean. “Maybe we can head down to the car show? I’d like to scope out the food before lunch rush.”

Mary’s laugh was a little less fluid than it had been just minutes before. “You and food,” she said teasingly. “Alright, well, that seems doable.” She nodded to the general assemblage of Sam and Jess’ friends. “It was good to meet all of you and put faces to names,” she said. “Hopefully I’ll get to see some of you again soon.”

They left to a chorus of agreement, and the three of them kept up a leisurely pace as they headed down toward the car show. They entered the queue to pay for their entrance, and Sam spied a familiar leather jacket a few places up. A more familiar trenchcoat stood next to it, and Sam grinned. “Dean, Cas!” He called, and two heads turned. He waved and Dean smiled a little uncertainly. “I’ll see you inside man,” Sam assured him, glad to see they wouldn’t be hunting all over the show for the other two, or trying vainly to set up a rendezvous.

When they all met up inside the gates, Mary headed right for Dean, giving him a big hug. Sam didn’t miss how Dean tensed, just a little, before hugging back. He also didn’t miss how he stepped back against Cas when Mary let him go, his hand instinctively reaching out to grasp his dom’s.

Cas, for his part, just squeezed Dean’s hand and nodded to the hotdog stands. If he had seen Dean’s discomfort, which Sam didn’t doubt, he at least gave the older man his dignity by not drawing attention. Sam approved, and gave Cas a small smile of thanks.

“I believe I would like a funnel cake,” was all that Cas said as he turned toward the food. “And as their line is the longest, perhaps we should wait there first.”

Dean laughed, a high and brittle sound. Sam hoped his brother would be able to relax a little while he was surrounded by people who loved the things he did: vintage cars. “Yeah, man, I know you’re really just getting in line for the deep fried Snickers. You and chocolate, can’t fool me.”

Cas laughed. “Oh, Dean, you never cease to amaze me with your powers of deduction,” he said, grinning and leaning over to bus a kiss over Dean’s cheek. He seemed to realize where they were, though, because Dean froze and he pulled back a little. He squeezed Dean’s hand in apology and tugged him close again. “Yes, I certainly do want a Snickers. And perhaps a corndog. Are events like this not merely invitations to eat fried food?”

Dean’s laugh this time was slightly more relaxed, though he still seemed to be shooting glances Mary’s way, as if to gauge her reaction to Cas’ open affection. “Well, yeah. But I mean, you’re talking about deep fried _chocolate,_ man, and that just seems wrong on a whole ‘nother level.”

Sam grinned. “Aww ‘cmon now, Dean… You’re not saying that you don’t live for deep fried stuff, now, are you?”

Dean flushed just a little. It was barely visible under the flush caused by the wind as they all headed as a group toward the stand selling all things fried. “Well hell, I’m not sayin’ that,” Dean agreed. “Just saying that since he lives with _you_ , I thought he’d be a little more predisposed to rabbit food, is all.”

Sam felt elated. It was great the way that Dean seemed to be willing to let himself go a little now. To want to tease Sam, even in public. He could see the effort it was taking, the way the crinkles in Dean’s eyes weren’t all laughter. It meant a lot to know that Dean was _trying_ to integrate himself. He could see that he had Cas to thank for that, the way that his hand in Dean’s gave his brother the security to know he’d be protected if he chose to step out of his comfort zone a little.

“Harhar, Dean,” he said. “Just because I _like_ vegetables doesn’t mean that’s all I eat, you know.”

Dean grinned back and settled his free hand in his pocket. “Well I know that too,” he said, letting Cas draw them further up the line to the booth. “Been to your house, remember? Still, I didn’t take you for a fried food guru.”

Cas grinned and squeezed Dean’s hand a little bit, but before there was any more conversation, they were at the head of the line and Cas was placing an order. Three funnel cakes, five snickers and two orders of fried oreos later, and he was digging his wallet out of his pocket over Dean’s protest.

“Dean,” he said mildly. “It’s my treat for _everyone_. If you feel so inclined later, I will certainly not protest if you purchase something else.” He leaned over and paid the woman what Sam privately thought was an obscene amount of money for deep fried candy, but just nodded his thanks as Cas began to pass out the goodies when they came across the counter.

“Ooh, thanks, Cas” Jess said as she immediately picked up an Oreo. “These are my favorite.” She grinned, and took a big bite.

Mary took a smaller piece of one of the funnel cakes as they started to walk. The cars were parked in rows on either side, with their owners sitting in lawn chairs or standing next to them. Dean walked with ill disguised glee, stopping here and there to admire a car or chat with an owner. It was strange to see this loose and friendly man, as compared to the man she’d met the night before at dinner. This Dean was open and chatty, and obviously knowledgeable.

She looked over at Cas, and saw a strange look on his face. He seemed almost wistful, and Mary hoped she’d get a chance to talk with him privately before she left. She was self-aware enough to know that she wasn’t Dean’s mother now. Not really, not the way she wanted to be. Her baby was grown and her chance to kiss his scrapes and soothe his hurts gone with his childhood. The best she could hope for now was a friendship, a mentorship. Her Dean was still gone, but _this_ Dean deserved every chance he could get for her love and support.

Cas stood where she would have, once, support but in a very different way. Cas was his shoulder to lean on, his arms to hold at night. She was grateful that Dean had found someone to support him. As much as she knew about who John Winchester had become, she knew that the man was a brute, and Dean clearly bore the mental scars of someone who hadn’t gotten his needs met. Mary would never forgive the young and naive self who hadn’t realized that her baby was still alive. 

This Dean walked from car to car, but in watching Cas, Mary realized that she was seeing the mask Dean put on. She’d seen hints of it the night before, but now he had just slipped it on outright. How much of this was the bravado he _should_ have had, just like Sam had pride in his own accomplishments? 

Dean suddenly stopped dead, nearly causing Sam to walk right into him. “Aww, man,” Dean said breathlessly. “I don’t believe it.” His eyes were wide as he took in the car before him. He held a hand out breathlessly, but didn’t touch the car. “A Hemi Cuda convertible.” He shook his head and looked at the owner, standing proudly next to the car. It was green, with black at the ends, and was built like a tank. 

The man grinned proudly. “Yep. My favorite car,” he said, stepping closer to the open hood. “Ain’t she a beaut?”

Dean nodded. “Hell yeah. She’s gorgeous. Looks like a seventy, got a four-hundred and twenty-six cubic inch Hemi; it’s one of only twenty one made, am I right? She a family car?”

The man, tall and thin and maybe forty years old, patted the car affectionately, answering both questions. “Yep. She was my dad’s, he won her off a work buddy when I was in high school, and he gave her to me when I graduated college. I’ve been maintaining her and showing her a couple times a year ever since. Girl like her deserves to be shown off.”

Dean grinned broadly. “Yeah she does,” he agreed. “Man. She’s fantastic. Love the color; real racing heart in her… D’ you mind if I got a pic with her? She’s a real piece of history.”

The owner grinned and shook his head. “Go for it,” he said, and Dean fumbled in his pocket for his phone. He started to pass it to Cas, but Mary spoke up.

“Here Dean… I’ll take it. You and Cas can be in it together.” She smiled broadly, and Dean seemed only a little reluctant to pass her his phone. Cas went willingly enough, wrapping his arm around Dean’s waist and hugging him loosely as Dean positioned both of them beside the car. Mary snapped a few pics, relishing the bright smile on Dean’s face as he leaned against Cas’ side. Dean shook the car owner’s hand as they stepped away. “Thanks, man,’ he said. He took his phone back from Mary and smiled as he looked them over. “Thanks,” he said again, nodding to her. “These are great.”

Mary smiled. “You’re welcome, Dean,” she said. She didn’t feel like she could comment on how happy Dean looked, so she just handed him the phone and nodded back at the food. “How about some hotdogs? I don’t know about all of you, but funnel cake and oreos really aren’t a filling lunch for me.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah… Hotdogs sound great.” He looked around at the group. “I’ll get them… How many?”

Dean looked reluctant, but Mary spoke first. “I’ll have two. Chilli and cheese, please, Sam.” 

Cas nodded. “Yes, I will have two as well. Dean?”

Dean still seemed as though he didn’t want to commit, but Mary didn’t miss how Cas squeezed his hand a little and he nodded. “Uh, yeah. Two. Thanks, dude.”

Sam nodded. “Ok, great. That’s six chilli cheese dogs. You wanna come with and help me carry them, hon?”

Jess slipped her hand into his elbow and nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.” Mary watched them head over to the booth, and turned to Dean and Cas.

“You really know a lot about cars, Dean,” she said, letting her honest admiration slip into her voice. “I mean, to be able to tell all of that just by looking at car.”

Dean flushed. “Well, the Cuda is really rare. There aren’t that many of them. That one is in gorgeous shape, though. The Shelby that I want? They’re uncommon, but still enough around that there’s feasibility of me someday saving enough for one. And I could justify driving her. One like the Cuda? The most road she sees a year is driving on and off the trailer. She’s gorgeous, but cars are meant to be driven.”

Cas smiled warmly from where he stood next to Dean. “It is good to hear you so passionate about something, Dean,” he said. “It reminds me of when first we met.”

Mary smiled more broadly at that. “I’d like to hear that story,” she said, urging them to start meandering toward where Jess and Sam were getting the hotdogs. “I mean, if you don’t mind.”

Cas looked at Dean, urging him to be the one to speak. Dean cleared his throat self-consciously and shrugged. This was more like the Dean she’d seen the night before, and Mary regretted the step back Dean seemed to be taking. Not that he had to be outgoing _all_ the time, but she could see how he consciously reined himself in, and it made her sad. “There’s really not a whole lot to tell. I was at work, tending bar. He came in. He was really cute, so I flirted with him. Turns out he was really smart, too, and just kept coming back.” He shrugged. “So we went out a few times, and that was that.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “That seems… something of an oversimplification, Dean,” he said. “Not that you, perhaps, know the entire story? I was supposed to be meeting a study group to go over a plan for a project. I would not normally have been at any bar on a weeknight. They decided not to attend, but I was already there. If it weren’t for them, I am not certain I would have gone inside.”

“Really?” Dean seemed surprised, and Mary had to smile. This seemed like much more of a story than first anticipated.

“Really,” Cas agreed. “I was almost ready to go home when I decided to just have one drink. And then I was mesmerized by your eyes, and by the fact that you used a pseudonym, and seemed to have no problem with me doing the same. I decided right then that I had to get to know you. The next time I came to the bar was entirely to see you. I had no interest in alcohol. I was thrilled that your coworker was so understanding.”

He turned his attention to Mary then, obviously remembering to whom he was supposed to be telling the story. “She took over the bar, even though Dean was supposed to be at work. And bought us french fries. It was very sweet of her. We went out for dinner that night, after his shift, and met a handful more times in the following two weeks. I wanted to get to know him, because he seemed to be worth the effort. We hadn’t even exchanged names yet, only going by nicknames.”

Mary smiled. “That’s sweet,” she said. “But how did you learn each other’s names , then?”

Dean chuckled a little bit, less uncomfortable now that Cas had broken the ice. “Well, actually, I was out to lunch with Sam. We were chatting a little bit, and Cas walked in. Sam waved him down and introduced us. It kinda… went from there.”

“It was fated to be,” Cas said. His words, though nominally to Mary, were clearly for Dean’s benefit. He squeezed Dean’s hand again, and Mary felt something relax, just a little. A breath she hadn’t known she was holding let out. She might not ever get to be a mother to Dean, but he’d found a pillar of a different kind, and she couldn’t begrudge him that.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are, one week later and you guys get another chapter! :) I'm glad I'm keeping (mostly) on top of things.
> 
> Already hard at work on the next chapter. Thanks to Lisa for taking time out of her own NaNo to help me beta and polish (as much as I bothered to.)
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Dare

Mary looked over at Sam as they drove back toward the apartment. “That went somewhat better than I expected,” she said earnestly. “Dean seemed… Different, today. Being around cars seemed to be good for him.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I knew he was smart, but man, some of the stuff he rattled off about those cars was killer. I had no idea some of those cars were that rare. Or that difficult to maintain. I don’t know how he kept so many facts in his brain.”

Mary laughed. “As though you’re one to talk, Sam,” she said, shaking her head. “You always seemed to have a random fact for any occasion. Dean was just more targeted.” She sighed a little bit as she pulled up to a stop sign. “What fun you two would have had.” 

Sam knew she was talking about if they’d grown up together, and he reached to pat her hand. “I’m sure it would have been great,” he agreed. “I always wanted a brother.”

Mary’s smile was sad, like the one Sam remembered from his childhood when his mother would talk briefly about her lost son. “He always liked to play with you, Sammy. He’d hold you on the couch, and tickle your toes. I always thought he’d make a great daddy someday. He was so gentle with you.” Her voice had taken on a dreamy tone, colored with tears that threatened to fall.

That was a new one. For most of Sam’s life, he and Dean had existed in separate planes. As though Dean and he were entirely unique parts of their mother’s life. Sam had almost forgotten that the fire had been on his six month birthday, which meant that for six months, he and Dean had coexisted. For six months, he’d had a brother. “I wish I could remember,” he said finally, turning his gaze away from the window.

Mary nodded, and fell silent for a few minutes. When she spoke again she seemed to have herself under control, at least a little bit. “He seemed so animated when he was telling us about that Shelby,” she said. “It _is_ a gorgeous car. I think he’d do very well with one. He is so excited when he talks about restoring cars, and allt he work that goes into it. But I know he wants to restore it himself, if he gets one… Do you really think he’s saving for one? It seems silly to avoid a car when he could do so much more if he had one. Trainings and classes and shopping… He could get another car and still save for the Shelby.”

Sam shrugged. “We haven’t really talked about it. He seems happy enough though. He’s been living here for a couple years and hasn’t had a car since he moved here, so I guess it’s okay? Now that I know him, though, we’ll make sure he gets where he needs to go.” He chuckled softly. “Honest? I kinda think it’s only a matter of time until Cas moves out and in with Dean, and then they’ll have a car there. I don’t think it’s going to be an issue. Anyway, mom… I know you mean well. But he’s a grown man. If he wants to go carless and save, well, that’s his business.”

The car was silent for a few more minutes. Mary knew she was being childish. She knew that Dean wasn’t ever going to be her baby again. But it was so unfair! She took a deep calming breath, and then another. “I know, Sam,” she said finally. “He’ll make his own decisions, one way or another. But that doesn’t mean I can’t help him save up a little, right?” She smiled. “I’ve got twenty years of Christmas and birthdays to make up for, after all.”

Sam cringed, but he didn’t have to say anything. Jess spoke up from the back seat. “That’s really admirable, momma Mary,” she said. “But Dean’s really self reliant. I think it might make him feel… beholden, to you, if you tried to give him extravagant gifts. He needs to have a really solid foundation before he will feel safe taking gifts.” She smiled a little bit; it was sad but she wanted to get it said. “You see it a lot in abuse cases. Dean just needs a little bit of space to get to know us before we try enveloping him in our awesomness, okay?”

Mary sighed. “You damn kids are too smart for your own good, you know that?”

Sam grinned. “That’s why I love her, mom,” he said earnestly. “She’s way smarter than I’ll ever be.” They pulled into the grocery store, and Sam slid out of the car, coming around to open Jess’ door. “It’s gonna be fine, mom. Really. So hey, how about we do chicken on the grill for dinner? We’ve still got enough time for it to marinate a little bit, and we can pick up some potatoes and stuff, do corn and potato packets?”

He watched his mother force her expression into something neutral as they all headed inside. “That sounds good. We can always do a barbeque with minimal trouble. I’m sure Dean and Cas will like it when they get there.” She smiled a little. “They are a cute couple, aren’t they?”

“Yeah.” Jess grabbed a buggy and turned toward the produce section. “It was great to see Cas out and about; lately he’s gone into Christmas mode. Every minute, I swear, he’s out painting this or that to ‘build up stock’.” She paused the car to make exaggerated finger quotes, and Sam laughed, shaking his head.

“Well that _is_ the way that he makes the most of his Christmas spending money, Jess,” he said as he put a head of lettuce into the basket of the buggy. He paused for a moment in front of some zucchini. “What about grilled zucchini with the chicken? We haven’t made that for a really long time.”

“Ooh, yeah,” Jess agreed, stopping to pick a couple big ones. “And maybe an avocado-tomato salad?” She flitted over to that part of the produce section, and Sam glanced at his mom. 

“Uh, sorry we kinda took over dinner,” he said, only a tad sheepishly. “We actually haven’t gone grocery shopping in a while, and Jess loves to party plan, so…”

Mary laughed from where she stood selecting ears of corn for their corn and potato packets. “No, don’t worry about it Sam,” she said. “I like being a guest sometimes. It’s your house. If Jess wants to go all out, I say let her.” She sobered, but only a little, reaching out to pat her son’s hand. “You know I really like her. I mean, I know she’s yours, but I do look forward to having her for a daughter for real.”

Sam smiled as he watched his sub move through the store, before turning his attention back to the corn. “Thanks, mom,” he said earnestly. “She’s really something special. I…” He licked his lips. “I know we’re not planning on getting married anytime soon.” His voice was low, because he knew it would carry in the store. “I meant what I said for waiting until we’re done with undergrad and everything. But, uh… I want to propose. At Christmas.”

Mary’s eyes widened and she slapped his arm. “Samuel Henry Campbell, how dare you tell me when she’s right there?” She hissed out at him, her voice as low as she could make it. “Tonight you and I are going to have a very long talk.” 

Sam had to smile; he looked forward to it. His mother could so rarely make it out to California, he loved the time they got to spend together. It was good to know she was so accepting of Jess, looking forward to making her a part of their family. Sam knew it would make a big change, but he also knew that he didn’t want to hold off any longer in asking her. They could wait as long as they needed before the ceremony itself, but he wanted everyone to know that she was his. 

He was still grinning as they went back to grocery shopping, meeting Jess back up and then heading through the produce toward the meat market, their chatting much more relaxed than before.

+++++

Cas pulled up to the front of the apartment, letting Dean out first. He joined him on the stoop and fished his keys out of his pocket. “Watch the salt line,” he said idly, pointing to the white line just inside the doorway as the door swung open. “Sam is very particular about the salt line. Something about slugs? I’m not sure.”

Dean blinked. “A salt line?” Sam couldn’t… That just didn’t make sense. Coming from farm country, it definitely made more sense that Sam was fighting off a snail invasion, not that he was paranoid about demons.

“Yes… He said that once when he was a child a particularly damp summer left them with an overabundance of slugs. They got in the habit of laying a salt line, and never quite got out of the habit. Just try stepping over it. You didn’t notice last time we were here?”

Dean shook his head. “Uh, no. Sammy definitely didn’t mention the salt line.” Even though his rational mind told him otherwise, his hunter’s brain took over. He looked over the living room with new eyes as they moved through, noting an absence of a fireplace but an abundance of iron fire tools. Alright, _three_ , but when you don’t have a fireplace, three _is_ an abundance. He couldn’t quite read the titles of the books, but… Sammy definitely knew way too much about supernatural protections.

His attention was drawn back to his dom when Cas toed off his boots. “So… They will likely be gone for an hour or so? Jess and Sam seem incapable of a quick shopping trip, no matter their protestations. Would you feel comfortable coming with me to my room? I have a television there, and some books, if you would like to read. I have some homework I most definitely need to get done, but you are welcome to sit with me if you’d like. Sam and Jess prefer I do not open my paints in the living room. They say it is a dangerous proposition.”

Dean chuckled faintly, putting aside the possible-weirdness that was his brother for a moment. “Uh, yeah, that’d be great,” he said, untying his shoes and setting them next to Cas’, and then hanging his coat in the closet. “Let’s go.”

*Cas led him down the hall to a room Dean had never seen. Of course, since Dean had kept to the public areas of the apartment, that wasn’t unusual. He pushed open the door and glanced over his shoulder sheepishly. “I apologize for the mess,” he said. “I have been very focused on school and not so much on cleanliness.”

That was an understatement. Where Dean’s own space was organized chaos, Cas’ was merely chaos. His bed was a rumpled mess, shoes and clothes covered the floor, and books, canvases, paint and all sorts of things were on every available flat surface. “Uh… It’s fine,” Dean said, though he itched to organize. How could Cas live like this? Did he even know where anything was? 

Cas brushed off the desk chair, and then motioned vaguely to the bed. “You… Can sit there, or look around, whatever you like. Mi casa es su casa, as they say. I just have a little thing I need to do with this painting and then we can go out and start in the kitchen on those brownies we talked about.” 

“Uh… Sure thing,” Dean agreed. After all, school was important, and he did want to see Cas work.. Dean awkwardly perched on the edge of the bed, watching as Cas uncapped some paint, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to sit still. He pulled his latest gadget out of his pocket; it was just mostly wires and some circuit board; he hadn’t quite figured out what he wanted it to be yet. It was a good way to pass the time when he was bored, and he had anticipated needing a little bit of stress relief in the press of the crowds that day.

Unfortunately, even fiddling with the wires didn’t take his mind off of the room he sat in. Cas seemed engaged in his work and Dean didn’t want to interrupt. His eyes couldn’t focus on the little gadget; they kept darting around to the piles of clothes, paints, books… Everything strewn around the room with little, if any, organization. Being in this mess was quite literally painful for him. John would have whooped his ass if he’d let their motel room get even close to this messy. Only case notes could be spread out, and that only because sometimes it was necessary. He squirmed, looking at the mess, until he finally couldn’t take it anymore. 

He slid off the bed and began to ‘explore’, picking up things here and there as he wandered through the room. He just happened to hold on to things as he did, making a few passes to the laundry basket to deposit clothes spattered with bright paint, or to the bookshelf to rearrange a few things so you could actually read the titles of books.

Cas looked up nearly fifteen minutes later, having seemingly been lost in his own world, and frowned when he saw Dean with a pair of pants in his hand. “Dean… What are you doing?”

Dean froze guiltily. “I.. uh… Dude. I’m sorry.” He flushed, looking away from Cas. “I didn’t mean to, uh, just take… your room over. I just… it was making me antsy. All the stuff… just… thrown like that. How do you live this way dude? It’s… chaotic.”

Cas cut him off, waving a hand. “I am not angry, Dean. I’m just surprised. You know you don’t need to clean up after me. But I appreciate the gesture.” He smiled, waving his hand to encompass the whole room. “I don’t think it’s looked like this as long as I’ve lived here. I have… rather a habit of spreading out and making myself at home.”

Dean moved, still guilty, to drop the pants in the laundry before he moved to the closet floor, where shoes spilled out. “You don’t mind? If I want to… You know, do things?” 

Cas shook his head. “No, Dean, I don’t mind. If it makes you feel more comfortable, by all means, tidy as you wish. I am nearly done with this section and then we can begin the brownies, if you like.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good plan. I’d like to get them in the oven before everyone gets back.” He dropped to the floor, crisscross applesauce and began to reach into the closet and pull out shoes and _more_ laundry. It was like, given the permission, he felt free to move and explore a little bit. “Dude, do you ever even do laundry? I mean, your whole wardrobe has to be on the floor here.”

Cas chuckled as he blended some paints together on his pallet. “Well, I try to avoid it as long as possible. I have a terrible habit of shrinking things, and my shirts tend to come out much more gray than white… In general, I wait until things are dire and move from there.”

Dean tutted, shaking his head. “Laundry isn’t hard, man,” he said. “I mean, the instructions are right on the label! All you have to do is follow the directions and separate your lights from darks. Hell, with most laundry detergents now, you don’t even have to do that!”

Cas grinned, shrugging one arm and moving to begin the corner he had been on before. “Well, perhaps you will have to teach me. So far, Jessica has been unsuccessful, and I believe she has banned Sam from the laundry room for much the same reason. Though it might also be because she prefers things done a certain way with her own clothing and it is just easier to do Sam’s as well. I haven’t asked.”

Dean huffed out a laugh and reached to pull out the last shoe, and then began to match them. “Dude. How do you have so many pairs of shoes? I mean, I’ve got… three? Work boots, work _shoes_ and everything else. You’ve got… _twelve!_

“Many of them are from high school,” Cas said distractedly. “I never really thought about how many I had. They just go in a box from one place to another when I move. Some are for various art shows I have been in, or for art _projects_ that never materialized. It’s really a little bit of everything. Eventually, I suppose, I’ll go through them.”

Dean huffed again, but subsided as he began to stack the shoes neatly on the closet floor. “John never would have let me get away with our room looking like this.” He spoke absentmindedly, just as distracted by his stacking as Cas was by his painting, but he froze when he realized what he’d said. 

Cas, too, put down his paintbrush. “No?” His voice was carefully neutral, not censoring Dean at all. It was hard, not to be accusatory of John, but it had been such a nice day already that Cas didn’t want to risk putting a pallor on it. “I suppose in smaller houses clutter is a very real issue.”

Dean flushed a little bit, looking intently at the shoe in his hand. He didn’t want to look up at Cas, to try to read the intent into his words. “Yeah.. Well, we never really had much anyway, so it would have been really disrespectful to let it be all over.”

Cas nodded sagely, and purposely picked up his brush again. “I agree. And truly, I should take more effort in my surroundings. Unfortunately, I’m easily distracted, and I spend so little time in my room except to work and sleep, that I rarely notice.”

Dean snorted, but seemed grateful to let his comment pass. “Yeah, well… I guess that’s a habit I’ll have to break, huh?” He studied his hands intently, not willing to look and see what else his words had wrought. What the hell was up with his mouth, anyway? It seemed like it was sharing things of its own accord, and he didn’t like it.

Cas, though, smiled. It was the first time he’d heard Dean say something so clearly intent on sharing a future. It warmed him through, and he nodded. “I look forward to it,” he said earnestly. “And I hope I can help you with it; I do not intend to leave you feeling overwhelmed all the time.”

Dean flushed at that. It was good to know that Cas didn’t feel like he was overstepping his bounds or trying to change him. He wanted Cas to want him around, and it seemed like they might be headed that direction. “Well,” thanks, he said, swallowing quickly and searching for another topic of conversation. “So… what are you working on?”

He stood up and went to the painting Cas was working on, peeking over his shoulder. His hands fiddled idly with the hem of his shirt, wanting something to do while he looked. 

Cas looked up at him, gesturing at the canvas. “Well I am still on my landscapes unit,” he said, distaste coloring his words. “But this one we are permitted a little more… Freedom.” He grinned, and Dean looked more closely at the picture. It was a field, and a herd of cows milled about under a night sky. He didn’t see anything unusual, and searched for something nice to say.

“Uh… cool. Nice detail on the cows, dude,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Cas laughed, and Dean felt hurt well up a little. What, he couldn’t like cows now? But Cas reached out and patted his arm. “Thank you, Dean,” he said, a smile still in his voice. “Do me a favor and turn off the lights.” 

Dean frowned; weren’t they looking at the painting? He turned off the lights, though, and Cas fiddled with his desklamp. It turned out to be a blacklight, and all of a sudden the painting was illuminated with dozens of wisps of light. “Will-o-the-wisps are common folklore in many countries, under different names,” Cas said. “I discovered that during research for this painting. My take? They are aliens… I am going to put a ship in the upper corner, and perhaps a tractor beam.”

Dean blinked. “Woah. That’s… cool, dude,” he said honestly. But it kind of freaked him out. Cas wasn’t supposed to know what creatures like will-o-the-wisps were. He flicked the lights back on. “That’s really neat. I’ve never seen glow in the dark paint like that.”

“Yes, my teacher wanted us to explore different choices for artistic mediums. I chose art which could be appreciated both at daylight and evening hours.” 

Dean grinned, his unease fading a little. “I actually really liked that,” he agreed. Clearly Cas didn’t know much about the things; he was “It’s a really cool idea; nice work.” He nodded and stepped forward, squeezing Cas’ hand. “So… How much more do you have to paint? Not that it’s not cool, watching you work, just…” He shrugged. “I can go start the brownies if you want.”

Cas rinsed his brush. “No, that’s alright. I’ve done enough for now. Just let me wash my hands and we can go ahead and get started. I can finish the cows this evening.”

Dean nodded and stepped back. He went to the bed, straightening the pillows and pulling the blankets up until the military corners he was used to were settled on his dom’s bed. Cas seemed to be busying himself capping his paints and wiping down his palette, and by the time Dean was finished, Cas was too.

“Alright Dean,” he said. “Let’s make brownies. By the time they are done, the others should be back. We can start setting the table as well.” Dean let himself be drawn by the hand to the door, but Cas paused when they reached it. “Oh, and Dean…” He leaned in and kissed Dean softly. “Thank you for your assistance cleaning my room. I appreciate it very much.”

Dean flushed. “Uh, you’re welcome,” he said, a little breathless. He glanced at the door, and then back to the bed. “Uh… You know... “ Want flared in his gut, remembering how good some of their kisses had been. Cas was the first person he’d dreamed about kissing for a long time. He licked his lips, and then shook his head. Was he seriously thinking about making out with his boyfriend in his brother’s house? “Nevermind. It’s stupid.” 

Cas frowned, concern creasing his brow. “Dean, what is it? You know I always am interested in what you have to say; I’m sure it isn’t ‘stupid’.”

Dean took a deep breath, and glanced at the bed again. He didn’t want to get shot down. Wouldn’t Cas just remind him that Sam and Jess and _Mary_ could be back any moment? “I just thought maybe we could… Do that. A little more. Before we left.”

Cas’ eyes widened just a fraction, and he stepped a little more into Dean’s space. “Dean,” He said earnestly, trailing a hand down Dean’s arm. “I want to be certain I understand what you’re asking for. You want to kiss me some more?”

Dean nodded, mingled shame and hope coloring his skin crimson across his face and ears. “I just. Never mind. I know they might be back soon, and stuff. It’s not a big deal.” Except it was. He remembered their kisses from their ice cream date, from the little walk they’d taken. They felt so _good_ , and it had been a long time since Dean felt good from affection. 

Cas smiled, and squeezed Dean’s hand. “Dean,” he said. “If that is what you want, I am most certainly not embarrassed to do so. They aren’t here now, and we have a door.” He lifted a hand, drawing it down Dean’s cheek. The friction of Dean’s stubble made him shiver. “As much or as little as you’d like, Dean,” he said. “You lead the way.”

Dean swallowed hard. “I want… No one has ever asked me like that before,” he said. He looked down, away, but Cas wouldn’t allow it. He reached up and turned Dean’s head to meet his eyes again. 

“I’m asking now, Dean,” he said firmly. His eyes grew soft. “Please don’t hide from me. I cannot know what you need if you don’t talk to me. So tell me what to do for you and I’ll do it.”

The bed grew more inviting and Dean finally reached past Cas and closed the door. “I want to kiss you,” he said. He hoped it sounded more sure than he felt, but he doubted it. Dean _did_ know that he wanted to be able to touch Cas, to feel his arms around him. They were in a relationship, right? Cas was his boyfriend; he was okay with that. That meant it was okay to explore, at least a little bit.

Cas’ smile made all of it worth it. Dean felt the tension loosening for a moment as Cas stepped forward and bracketed Dean against the wall. “Is this alright?” His words were breathed against Dean’s lips, and Dean realized he was trapped. Dean’s back was to the wall, and for a moment, panic flared. His heart beat so fast he wasn’t sure it wouldn’t beat out of his chest. He cleared his throat and put his hands on Cas’ hips.

“Can… Can we sit on the bed?” He wanted this, he did. His voice was weak, trembling. Fuck. It wasn’t fair! 

_”Pretty little thing,”_ Kale’s voice whispered in his ear. _”Pretty little whore, take it up against the wall like you’re supposed to._

He felt the panic recede as Cas moved instantly away. “Dean, what’s wrong? You’re pale.” 

Damn Cas and his fucking perceptive eyes. “I’m fine,” he lied quickly. “I want to… I just…” He pushed up again, away from the wall, and stepped into Cas’ space. He licked into Cas’ mouth in a sudden kiss, desperate and almost harsh.

Cas faltered for a moment and then brought his hands up to stroke Dean’s back. They kissed for a long moment before Dean finally pulled away. “I want to kiss you,” he managed, still trembling a little bit. “I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it right now.” He swallowed hard and looked at the bed. “Is that okay?”

Cas’ eyes were wide and concerned, but he finally nodded. “If that is what you want, Dean,” he said, stroking his cheek. He let Dean lead him to the bed and chuckled as he looked at how well it was made. “You may have to teach me to make my bed,” he said, lightening the tone a little. “I have never been able to make it do that.”

Dean smiled a little. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Later.” He sat down on the edge and drew Cas toward him. Cas went willingly, and soon was settled beside him. 

“How do you want to do this, Dean?” 

Dean fought the urge to squirm. He’d never been… In charge like this not with a dom. With another sub, he’d tried for both their sakes, but this was… different. He looked up at Cas, trying to put it into words. “Just… Kiss me?” 

Cas met his eyes and nodded. He shifted over on the bed until they were touching all along their sides. He leaned over and began to kiss Dean. First softly and then with more intent. Their hands stayed on each other’s knees. They didn’t wander much, but Dean gradually began to relax. Cas mouthed along Dean’s jaw, up under his ear. He didn’t speak, seeming to tell that words might make whatever this was even more tense.

At first they sat together, but then Dean shifted so he was pressed more firmly against Cas. “Not gonna break,” he ground out between kisses. “‘M fine, Cas…” His hands began to roam, teasing and exploring Cas’ body.

Castiel responded by deepening the kiss, shifting to press right back against Dean. His hand slid up Dean’s back, rubbing firmly. “Mm… Dean.” He licked into Dean’s mouth and rolled them on the bed so he was straddling Dean. He leaned down and kissed him firmly, his hands on either side of Dean’s head. It took a few moments, but he felt Dean tensing beneath him, and he pulled back.

“Dean, are you alright?” His voice was gruff, and he could practically see Dean trying to force himself to relax. Dean’s eyes were wide and a little glassy, but Cas could see that some of the arousal had faded.

“I’m _fine_ ” Dean gritted out. He reached up, tugging Cas down on top of him. “Would you just kiss me already?”

Cas hesitated just a second but then leaned down to kiss him. He was more tentative than before, and Dean didn’t begin to relax for quite a few minutes. When he finally did, it was as though he’d gone nearly limp. He still kissed back, but his hands had ceased their restless exploration. Cas pulled back, breathless. “Red, Dean. Red.” He rolled off of Dean and to the side.

Cas swallowed hard, looking over at Dean, who was watching him with wide eyes. Nausea flared in his stomach, because he could see that Dean didn’t even consider that forcing himself to continue when he was uncomfortable was just as bad, or worse, than Cas doing the same. 

“Dude, what’s wrong?”

“Dean, I could feel you tensing up under me. You weren’t enjoying it; you were limp. That should certainly not happen if you are enjoying it…” He reached across the bed, squeezing his lover’s hand and rubbing with one thumb. 

Dean looked down at his hands, ashamed. He couldn’t even make out right! “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want you to stop. I mean, I asked for it, didn’t I? I started this.” He fought not to pull away from Cas’ grip. He didn’t deserve comfort!

Cas sighed. “Dean, I don’t need you to apologize. It’s not wrong not to enjoy something, but it’s definitely wrong for me to force you if you aren’t.” Cas moved a little closer, sliding his hand up Dean’s arm, then reached to brush Dean’s shoulder. Dean allowed it, even shifted a bit closer himself. Cas took that as a good sign. Dean looked a little more relaxed now, too. “If you ever aren’t enjoying something, Dean, I need you to tell me. We can stop, or change it. But if you don’t tell me, I don’t know how to fix it.” 

Dean didn’t look away from his hands until Cas reached and tipped his chin up. “I’m sorry,” Dean said again. “I didn’t mean to make you stop.”

“Dean I don’t want you to feel bad about needing to stop.” Cas didn’t release Dean’s chin, making sure to meet his gaze evenly. “What I need to know is what was going wrong in this situation.” His voice was gentle, not wanting to spook Dean. Dean didn’t answer for a long minute, and finally Cas spoke again. “I was thinking perhaps I could hazard a guess?” When Dean looked away, turning his eyes toward the bed, Cas sighed and dropped his hand to squeeze Dean’s bicep. “I think what you were reacting to was being penned in and held down. Am I right? First the wall, and then me sitting on top of you.”

Surprise brought Dean’s eyes back up. He swallowed hard, his throat working for a long minute before he nodded. “Uh, yeah. That’s… That’s a pretty good assessment, really.” 

Cas nodded and sat up, holding out his hand. “Alright,” he said thoughtfully. Dean took his hand and sat up as well, the puzzled look on his face only growing as Cas scooted back on the bed until his own back was against the wall. “Do you still want to try again?” 

Dean shifted in his spot. “I… maybe. You want me to… Do what?” 

Cas spread his legs and motioned for Dean to come closer. “Come here. With me in this position, you will never be restrained.” 

Dean’s stomach gave a swoop. How could he do that? It was Cas’ job to be on top, that was where he was supposed to be! Just because it was a little, well, _uncomfortable_ for Dean to be held down, that didn’t make it right for Cas to be. “I don’t… You don’t have to…”

Cas sighed, reaching for Dean’s hand. “Dean,” he said, squeezing his lover’s fingers gently. “If you want to continue to kiss, I am most willing. If you prefer to go out and bake brownies, I am willing to do that as well. Nothing is contingent on this decision. I just thought this might be more comfortable for you.”

Dean was torn, and he sat for a minute more. “I don’t like that you can’t move,” he said finally. “You don’t have to be… held down.” 

Cas listened to the tentative comment, and he nodded. “Perhaps if we each lay on our sides?” He wanted to make Dean as comfortable as possible, and if that meant no one was restrained, he was fine with that. 

Dean licked his lips. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I don’t mean to be so… So…”

Cas shook his head. “Dean, it’s fine.” He shifted sideways and lay on his side again. “I want you, however it makes you comfortable. If that is something you would like to work on in the future, we can.” He held out his arms. “Come here?” He made it a question and purposely not an order. It was only a moment before Dean joined him, slotting their bodies together. Cas smiled warmly.

“Now… Where were we?” Cas stroked up Dean’s back, and Dean licked his lips again, this time more in anticipation.

“I think we were… Here…” He leaned in and pressed their lips together. They kissed for a long few moments. Dean tensed for only a moment, but when Cas didn’t change position or move much beyond his hands roaming up and down Dean’s back, Dean relaxed. They never dipped below his belt and never gripped too hard. 

Cas broke for air a few minutes later, and his smile was finally back. “You have a very good memory,” he teased, and Dean huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah, well,” he said with a flush. “Less talking, more kissing.”

Cas nodded, pressing their foreheads together for just a moment. “As you wish,” he said earnestly, before doing just that.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again... Thanks for your patience! Here's hoping this chapter doesn't feel tooooo choppy since it's utterly unbeta'd.. Yay Nano and me just writing and getting it out! Hope you all enjoy!

Dean relaxed into Cas’ touches, how his fingers caressed up and down his skin in long, smooth strokes. It felt amazing, to know that Cas _wanted_ to touch him like that, even just on his arms, neck and face. They kissed for a long time. Neither of them spoke. Even when they broke apart to breathe, they stayed in contact. Dean let Cas lead the way after a few minutes, just giving in to the feeling of Cas’ gentle touches. Cas took such good care, not pressuring, or rolling or any of the things that made him feel trapped.

Finally though, Cas pulled back, breathing hard. His hand stroked through Dean’s hair, and Dean laughed, equally breathless. “Do I look like a cat to you?” 

Cas grinned, lips swollen and eyes glinting. “I suspect the comparison is not entirely unwarranted,” he said, stroking Dean’s hair again. “But as loathe as I am to stop this… entrancing distraction, I think we should probably start the brownies.” He leaned in to press his lips to Dean’s again, ignoring his own commentary, and they indulged in a few more pecks before Dean pulled away.

“You’re right,” he said, twining his fingers with Cas’. “They’ll be back soon and I’d rather not be… Uhm… Yeah. In my brother’s house, and all, you know?”

Cas nodded. “Though I could argue that this is as much my house, I understand your reticence. Especially with your mother in town.” He leaned up and kissed Dean’s forehead and then pulled back so he could let Dean get up as well. They slid off the bed together, and Cas took a moment to straighten Dean’s rumpled clothes. “There.” He grinned. “You look a little more like yourself now.”

Dean’s grin didn’t slip and he reached out to do the same to Cas. “I can’t say the same, Cas… You look much neater than usual.”

Castiel barked out a laugh, and teasingly leaned in to give another little nipping kiss. “Well thank you. I think that means I should give you the option to rumple me more often, so you can fix me to your preference.”

Dean flushed, but didn’t comment or pull away when Cas took his hand again and went to pull open the bedroom door. They walked quietly into the main area, and Dean took the lead into the kitchen. “I need a bowl, eggs and milk,” he said over his shoulder. He was suddenly all business, right until he shot a coy smile at Cas. “I’m gonna knock your socks off with these brownies. Double chocolate chunk.”

Cas smiled back, obediently going to the refrigerator and getting the ingredients Dean requested. Dean himself had gone to the pantry and began to pull out the dry ingredients. He joined Cas at the counter. “Can you preheat the oven to three fifty and get me a nine-by-nine baking dish? We need it greased. Butter’s fine.”

“Of course.” Cas did as he was told and came back with the dish. By the time he had it greased, Dean had measured and soon was mixing all the dry ingredients together. “Where did you get this recipe? Did you make it up yourself?”

“Naw… I got this one off a diner cook in Wichita. She made amazing desserts. We were there a couple weeks when I was twelve, and I’d head to the diner to do my homework sometimes. Eventually she let me come in the back and help sometimes, if I got my work done, and she’d pay me in food.” 

Cas was surprised by the unsolicited sharing. Dean definitely kept his past close to his chest, but he wouldn’t protest hearing any tidbit of Dean’s life.

“She sounds like a wonderful woman.” Cas said a small prayer of blessing for she kind woman who had taken such good care of Dean. Dean played it off as though he had been merely helping her, and Cas thought she had probably played it off that way when she’d been asking for his assistance. He also knew that she had probably kept the hungry preteen from missing more meals, and made his grocery money stretch further, and he wondered how his Dean might have turned out without that hand up during a formative time in his life.

“She was. And she taught me how to make most of the desserts and stuff from the restaurant.” He poured in half a bag of chocolate chips and half a bag of caramel chips he’d found in the cupboard. “Sometimes I play this a little by ear… You think Jess’ll mind that I used her chocolate chips?”

Cas laughed. “No. She often says she intends to bake, but she’s very busy and usually forgets what she’s bought by the time she gets home. I suspect she will be grateful that you’ve used them and she gets the fruit of your labors.” 

“Well, that’s good. I mean, I am kinda taking over their kitchen and everything. I wouldn’t want to make her mad by using up something she really wanted to keep, you know?” He began to mix the milk and eggs into the bowl, making a thick batter. “Can you find me a spatula?”

Cas began to rifle through drawers, finally coming up with a hot pink rubber scraper. Dean held up the bowl and reached out for the tool. “Thank you,” he said, a little distracted now as he scraped the whole bowl in and filled up the pan with the gooey rich chocolate. 

He slid the pan into the oven and set the timer, and when he turned around Cas was licking the spatula. “Dude!” Dean said with a laugh. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to eat raw batter? It’ll make you sick.” 

Cas took a large finger full and offered it to Dean. “Are you sure, Dean?” He was grinning. “I’ve been doing it my entire life and I have not died yet.” He laughed when Dean hesitated for only a moment before opening his mouth. The chuckle died as Dean sucked Cas’ finger clean.

“Mmm. That _was_ good, you’re right.”

Cas cleared his throat self-consciously. “Uh. Yes. So…” The heat in Dean’s eyes caught him off guard. He’d thought that it would be tempered by the distance from their makeout session, but it apparently hadn’t dropped at all, and he was even more surprised when Dean stepped closer into his space again. 

“Let’s go watch TV.” Dean kept his voice even, and apparently he wanted to make Cas crazy. They certainly didn’t have time to do anything else in the bedroom, as though either of them were ready for that step. But Dean was wrapping his arm around Cas’ waist and slipping a hand into his back pocket, and Cas nodded and they went together to living room. 

“What would you like to watch?” Cas guided them to the couch and snagged the remote before settling down in the corner with Dean pressed against his side. If he were being honest, he didn’t really even care what they watched. Just spending the time with Dean, his sub in his arms, loose and relaxed on the couch with him, was a dream come true. 

“Uhh, I don’t care. Something mindless.” Dean dropped his head on Cas’ shoulder. “We’re just gonna turn it off when they get home; I don’t want to get sucked into something complex.”

Cas’ chuckle was a little more restrained, but he turned on the television and began to flip through the channels. “How about American Pickers?”

Dean shook his head a little. “That sounds great,” he said, though the tone of his voice said that perhaps he wasn’t being as honest as he could have been. Still, since he wasn’t complaining too much, Cas left it on and began to idly rub his hand up and down Dean’s arm. He still couldn’t believe that he had the option to do this, to just sit in companionable silence with his soulmate. 

He’d never have believed that he would have the chance to do this, at least not this soon after meeting Dean. Cas was normally a romantic, but this was pressing even the boundaries of his own fantasies. After all, it sounded like something out of a novel, meeting your soulmate in a bar and somehow living with his brother but neither of you knew. Thinking about it too hard made his head hurt, so instead he focused on the weight of his sub in his arms and the warmth on his chest.

They were halfway through the episode when a car finally pulled out in front of the apartment complex. Dean pushed himself upright. “I bet they’re gonna need help, if they bought anything worth two hours in the store.”

Cas laughed and stood up as well. “You’re right,” he agreed. “They definitely have a habit of coming home with huge shopping trips. I don’t know why, there are only three of us… Though today there are five of us so I can see why they might buy more than usual.”

Dean nodded and then headed out onto the stoop. Sam was struggling next to the car, carrying a large box of… Something. “Hey dude, need some help?”

Sam looked up. “Oh, thank god. Here…” He pressed the heavy box into Dean’s arms. “Jess thought we needed some fruit and stuff; I don’t know what happened to just a barbeque, but we’ve got all kinds of vegetables and… I don’t even know. I just put things in the cart.”

Dean laughed but obligingly carried the box up to the house. Sam, Mary, Jess and Cas all followed with a few bags each, and when everything was inside they began to unpack.

“Did you buy the entire grocery store?” Cas asked mildly. He was staring at three different kinds of barbeque sauce, and Mary promptly snatched them up. 

“We couldn’t decide,” she said primly. “So we’re going to have a taste off. With four of you here, trust me, the food won’t go to waste.” She took the chicken breast that Sam found in the next bag and went over to the counter. “I’m gonna get this started, Sam, you go ahead and get everything else put away.”

Sam rolled his eyes as his mother took over, in his _own_ kitchen, but he obediently helped to finish getting the groceries put up. “We’re gonna have fruit salad, tomato and avocado salad, and french fries with dinner; is there anything else you want, Dean?”

Dean looked a little poleaxed to be singled out, but shook his head. “No… I, ah, went ahead and started some brownies. They’re gonna be a little bit longer but I don’t think there’s any other food in particular that I want to eat.”

Mary looked up from slicing the chicken into tenders. “So Dean; spicy, sweet or tangy barbeque sauce? We couldn’t decide; that’s why we got all three.”

Dean shrugged. “I’ve always kinda been a spicy guy,” he said after a minute. “But sweet is a close second. A good honey barbeque is definitely worth a taste, any time.”

“Hah! Told you so,” Jess said from where she was washing fruit at the sink. “I told them that you’d like spicy. If you grew up in Texas, even just for a couple years, you definitely wouldn’t be a pansy when it comes to flavor.” She smirked at Sam, who rolled his eyes again.

“Yes, you’re right,” he said. It was a long suffering look, but an indulgent smile touched his lips. “So, Dean, brownies?” He looked over at his brother. “Are we benefitting from another Dean original recipe?”

Dean shook his head. “Naw, not this time… Just an old favorite from a diner I used to work in part time.”

Cas wondered at the different phrasing, and then realized that Mary probably wouldn’t take kindly to Dean explaining that he’d worked at the diner when he was _twelve_ in exchange for _dinner_. He hated that Dean had to censor himself, but was deeply grateful that Dean had felt safe enough with him to share the truth.

“He promises that they are wonderful brownies,” he offered. “And if the flavor of the batter is any indication, then Dean will definitely be living up to his promise.”

“Ooh, Dean let you lick the spoon, huh?” Sam teased with a grin as he put the plastic grocery bags away in their little pouch in the pantry. “Lucky you. Hey, do you know christmas cookies, Dean? Because, man, I’d kill for some decent christmas cookies.”

Dean blinked, still not used to being included in the rapid pace banter that his _family_ , and wasn’t _that_ a kicker, engaged in; he was barely used to it when he was in the garage, and he’d worked there for years! “I… know a couple? Is there one you really like?”

Mary snorted. “Don’t let him con you, Dean. He just wants to make you bake so he can get his fix sooner. But your grandmother will be sending up cookies, just like she always does, so you can just simmer down, Samuel Winchester.”

Sam stuck out his tongue at her, shaking his head a little. “Hey, cookies are cookies, mom. Why wouldn’t I take advantage of Dean being in town? Then I could have _fresh_ cookies! Not that grandma’s aren’t awesome,” he said to Dean in an aside. “It’s just that, if your usual baking is an indicator, I bet yours would rock pretty hard.”

Dean flushed. “Uh well I know a couple,” he repeated. “So I guess if there’s something you really like I'd be glad to make it for you.” He definitely wasn’t used to being wanted for his _baking_ skills. 

Sam crowed out a laugh. “Haha, see mom! He’d _be glad_ to bake for me. I’m not taking advantage, I’m just… using the resources at hand.” He grinned and turned to face Dean excitedly. “Do you do snickerdoodles? Damn, I love snickerdoodles…” 

“Are those the fluffy ones with cinnamon sugar?” Dean asked, frowning as he tried to call up a recipe in his head. “Yeah, I think I can manage those.” 

“Score.” Sam grinned and put the last couple pieces of food away in the fridge, then went to start washing fruit. “Man, nothing like a warm snickerdoodle while you’re studying to focus your mind.” He licked his lips like he was already eating the aforementioned cookie.

Castiel laughed, wrapping his arm around Dean’s waist as they went toward the oven to check the brownies. “Sam, you should weigh five hundred pounds, if you weighed as much as your consumption warrants.”

 

“Hey! I have a very active fitness regime, thank you very much,” Sam protested with mock annoyance. “I’ll have you know that I’m registered to run a half marathon next month. I need to carb load.”

“A half marathon?” Dean pulled a face, opening the oven and tentatively touching the top of the brownies. He shook his head; no, definitely needed more time. “Isn’t that like, thirteen miles or something?” He still ran, sometimes, but it definitely wasn’t his favorite. Running in boots hurt like hell after a while, and there were too many memories of John making him run after a long night, or having come home late. Just in general, running wasn’t his thing. “More power to you, dude. That sounds awful.”

Jess laughed from across the room. “I’m glad to see _someone_ in your family is sane, Dean,” she said as she finished up the salad. “Those two run all the time; I don’t know how they do it. Give me a bike any day.”

Dean shuddered. “You have to have _balance_ for a bike. Naw, man, my feet get me where I need to go at a _reasonable_ pace and that’s that.” It was way harder than it looked to ride a bike in combat boots. Dean didn’t even think that needed to be explained, but maybe it did? Well; now wasn’t the time.

Sam grinned back, shrugging. “To each his own, I guess. You’re not gonna see me give up running, anyway.” He handed Jess the last of the fruit, and turned to ask the room at large. “What else needs done?”

“Go start the grill heating, would you Sam?” Mary held up a hand, slimy with chicken. “I would, but I’m not quite ready to wash my heads yet.”

“Oh, sure,” he agreed, and was at the door in a few quick steps. “Be right back.” Silence fell for a minute, everyone engrossed in their own tasks, before Sam came back in. 

Actually, now was a really good time to change the subject. He could see Mary looking at him out of the corner of her eye, and he shifted self-consciously, moving toward the table to sit down while the brownies cooked. “So. Thanks again for the invite, Sammy,” he said. “The show was awesome; I didn’t even know that it was in town. I really enjoyed it.” He’d offer to help,but he’d been turned down enough times in this kitchen before that it really seemed unlikely to be accepted. As awkward as it felt, he’d sit until they asked for help specifically.

He wasted no time before heading to the fridge and pulling out a beer. He held it up with a questioning gaze, and Dean nodded, so he pulled out another. “Hey, no problem,” he said, passing one over to Dean. “I had a great time too. I never knew so many facts _existed_ about old cars! Hey, anyone else want a beer while we’re waiting for dinner?”

Jess perked up from where she was still chopping. “Over here,” she said, so Sam cracked it open and headed over to her. 

“Mom, Cas?”

Mary nodded. “Yes, please, thank you.”

Cas shook his head. “No thank you, Sam… Though if there is a coke, I would have one of those?”

Dean pulled a face as Sam obliged, coming out with a bottle of cola and another beer before closing the fridge. “Man, coke always makes my teeth squeak. I don’t know how you can drink it.” 

Cas blinked, cocking his head in confusion. “It makes your… teeth… squeak, Dean?” He seemed baffled by the comment. What did that even mean?

Dean wrinkled his nose. “Never mind,” he said. “I can’t explain it. But I stick to citrus pop, if I’m drinkin’ it. I don’t like the way cola sticks to my teeth.”

Sam laughed, but it didn’t seem mocking, so Dean let it go. Sam passed Mary her beer, and then sat down at the table with Dean and Cas. “Well hey, that just means you’re not gonna have to worry about losing your teeth from drinking too much soda, right Dean?”

The older man laughed a little bit, shrugging. “I dunno about that, Sam. I just take it as it comes, and make sure I brush my teeth.” He grinned and took a quick swallow of his beer, glancing awkwardly as he realized only the ladies were actively working on dinner. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, Dean,” Mary said as she set up the third bowl of barbeque sauce and chicken to marinate a little. “We’re all right. We’ll put the fries in as soon as the brownies come out, Jess is almost done with the salad, so I think we’re good for now. You just keep an eye on those brownies and let me know when they’re done, and I’ll get the fries in.” To prove her point, she came and sat at the table with the boys, taking a swig of her beer.

“So you’ve worked at a couple of diners, I take it, Dean?” She made her voice as nonthreatening as possible. Dean didn’t need to feel like he was being judged again. “You must like to cook then? Of course, I’ve benefited from your baking skills, so I can tell you are good at that but cooking and baking are two very different monsters.”

Dean blinked at the phrasing; most people would say ‘different beasts’; why was his mother using ‘monsters’ instead? But now wasn’t the time to pursue that, so he took a swig of his beer and made a point to focus in on what she was actually saying. “Uh, yeah. I mean, I can cook some stuff. I cooked a lot while I was in school, and mac and cheese from a box gets boring pretty quick, you know?” Though he’d eaten a lot of it. Nonperishables were definitely the way to go when you needed, potentially, to get out of town on a moment’s notice. “I mostly can do stuff from a can, or liven things from a box up with fresh. Since I’ve been living here I eat a lot more fruits and vegetables…” He blushed a little. “Not that I really like them, it’s just cheaper than it was when we were travelling, you know?” And John wasn’t counting his pennies, either. No, Dean didn’t really prefer to eat salads all the time, but there were only so many pizzas a guy could eat before he just wanted an apple.

Mary’s smile was understanding, and she nodded. “Yes, fresh fruits and vegetables are much tastier than ones from a can, or even the freezer section. It’s just not the same to buy ones trucked from all over when you can get them where they’re grown. Back home, in Wisconsin, there’s a farm market on every corner, it feels like, and I definitely know Sam and I are spoiled by ‘real food’.” She made finger quotes, and Dean found himself chuckling as well. His embarrassment faded a little bit, and he nodded. 

“Yeah. I like experimenting with recipes a little bit. It’s a little easier, since I’m the only one who eats it. If it’s no good, well, I’m the only one who's gotta put up with it, you know?”

Cas nudged him gently in the shoulder. “I look forward to… putting up with some of your cooking some time soon, Dean,” he said unsubtle as always. “Perhaps we can have a picnic; you and I each bringing something.” It was Cas’ turn to flush when he realized he was essentially inviting Dean on a date in the middle of a group conversation. “Of course, we can discuss it some other time,” he finished lamely.

Mary’s smile was warm as she reached out to pat Cas’ hand. “We don’t mind if you two lovebirds plan things without us,” she said, reassuring Dean as much as Cas. “After all; we all remember what it was like to be newly paired.” She glanced meaningfully down at their paired hands, cuffs bumping as their fingers twined. 

Dean blushed too, at the reminder that Sam had been so much further ahead on the relationship front. Still was, if he was being even remotely honest with himself. Hell; he was clearly just a small step away from _marrying_ his soulmate, and Dean could barely bring himself to _kiss_ Cas without a panic attack, let alone set a contract!

He was pulled out of his spiraling thoughts as Cas squeezed his hand. “Dean,” he said gently. “Your mother leaves in the morning. We don’t have to talk about this now.”

Dean took another swallow of his beer to cover his relief, and finally nodded. “Yeah, you're right,” he agreed. The timer dinged. _Saved by the bell,_ he thought wryly as he released Cas’ hand. “Let me get those and I bet we can put the fries in… You want me just to do that?”

Mary seemed to realize he wanted something to do with his hands, so she nodded. “Yes, please, Dean. Thank you. The fries are in the freezer, and… Jess, where are your baking sheets?”

The sub looked over her shoulder as she piled chopped fruit into a bowl. “Umm… Bottom cabinet, Dean, see that skinny one? Yeah, that one there on the left.”

Dean pointed at various cabinets until Jess gave the affirmative, opening it and pulling out a cookie sheet. He took a second to set up the fries, taking them from the freezer and laying them in a meticulous single layer on the baking sheet before going to the oven. He swapped the brownies for the fries, set the brownies on the counter to cool and then set a timer on the fries.

“Alright, that’s set… Mom, are you gonna man the grill?” Dean’s tone was purposely neutral. He was torn; he still didn’t feel as close to Mary as he did to Sam and Jess so in some ways it would be easier if she was outside and not in the group, but he knew she had to leave pretty early the next morning. He didn’t want to miss out on any time with her if he could help it. It would be easier if Mary were more interested in carrying the conversation, but as it was, it seemed like she wanted to know all about Dean, and there were parts of himself he just wasn’t ready to share yet.

Mary nodded, and Dean still wasn’t sure if he felt disappointed or relieved. She smiled. “Chicken’s easy though, since it’s gotta cook through. I’ll just go toss it on and set a timer when to check on it.” She pushed up from the table. “I’ll be right back.”

Dean watched her go, his hand still tight around Cas’. He smiled at the look of concern on his boyfriend’s face when he glanced over. “I’m fine,” he promised. “It’s just that I’m not… Used to how this goes, you know? The whole… Saying goodbye to mom thing.”

Sam nodded his agreement. “Yeah, I get you,” he agreed. “You know she’s gonna want your address, right Dean? I mean, she sends me care packages all the time, I’m sure she’s gonna want to send some to you, too.” 

Dean blinked. “Care packages?” He’d never had something like that from John. Sam’s grin was immediate.

“Yeah! Like candy, magazines… Usually it’s stuff for a ‘study break’ that she knows I’d like, or Jess, or Cas, but sometimes it’s just stuff for fun.” He shrugged. “She works at a college so she hears what kids get from their parents, you know?” He grinned. “It’s really neat. And I’m sure she’d want to send you some.”

Dean still was confused. He knew she cared; she’d made that pretty clear. But she was his mother, not his friend. How many times had he heard John say that when he’d asked if he could go somewhere or do something. _”Damnit Dean, I’m your father, not your friend. What I say goes! Now get your ass over here and clean this gun! You have a job to do and you know it… Why the fuck do you keep asking me dumbass questions?”_

Dean realized he’d sat for a really long time and Sam was looking at him worriedly. “Uh, well, no… I mean, yeah, if she wants, but she doesn’t has to. I like the idea though.” He wasn’t going to lie purposely; he _was_ uncomfortable with it but… It would be nice to know that some _parent_ thought he was worth the time. 

Before anyone could answer, Mary was coming back in through the door and reclaiming her place at the table. “So, Dean,” she said without preamble. “I know this is kind of springing it on you, and I’m _sure_ Sam is going to kick me under the table… But I was wondering if you would like to come to Wisconsin for Christmas? Cas, you’d be welcome too, of course.” She turned her attention back to Dean. “I just know that your grandparents would be thrilled to get to see you and they really aren’t much for travelling any more.” 

Dean was, once again, shocked into speechlessness. Why did his family have such a penchant for such outrageous comments? He swallowed. “I, uh… I really don’t know,” he said finally. “I usually work Christmas week at the shop, and the bar. It makes it easier for the people with families to go home to and…” He trailed off, self-conscious. He realized _he_ had a family now, too, but he still felt strange and awkward claiming it.

Mary yelped as Sam _did_ kick her under the table. “You don’t have to give an answer right now, Dean,” Sam promised with a glare at Mary. “It’s still only the end of October. We can get you there if you want, or there’s always Skype. Gramma and Grandpa will get to meet you eventually. Whenever you’re ready.”

Cas nodded, and if his sorrow at Dean’s holiday history showed, well, he wasn’t going to say anything. Instead, he squeezed Dean’s hand and took a swig of his pop. He hoped to offer his support without being overwhelming, because he could see how his sub was already pulling back and away from the conversation. He did speak after just a moment, though. “Whatever you choose, Dean, I will spend the holiday with you. If you want me.” He didn’t want to pressure Dean, but he thought it was important for him to know that Cas wanted to be with him; _Dean_ was the family he wanted to spend the holidays with.

Dean swallowed and shrugged a little. “I don’t know yet,” he said finally. “I really haven’t thought about it much. I’ll have to get back to you, okay?”

Mary nodded, patting his arm. “Of course, Dean,” she said. “I just wanted to get that out there. Since I’m leaving tomorrow, I didn’t want to risk you not getting to hear the offer face to face.”

Dean licked his lips and nodded. “Well that’s fair,” he agreed. “And, ah, thanks. It’s good to know I’m wanted.” 

Cas squeezed his hand again. “Of course you are wanted, Dean,” he said, a smile on his lips. “In fact, I think you will find soon that you are wanted by more people than you know what to do with!” He leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss to the side of Dean’s lips, and then pulled back. Both men blushed. “Sorry,” Cas said with a self-conscious chuckle. “It was… an impulse.”

Dean shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I didn’t mind. Uh. Thanks.” He looked down at his hands, still blushing, and Mary shook her head fondly. 

“You two are too friggin’ cute,” Jess said as she washed her hands and came to join everyone else at the table. “Seriously. It’s a good thing I’m in pre-med because I’m pretty sure I’d get diabetes just from hanging out with you.” She slid into Sam’s lap and took a swig of her beer.

Cas grinned at her cheekily. “Well it’s no more than I’ve put up with living with you and Sam,” he said. “So I really don’t think you have room to argue. After all, I believe it was you who said you wanted a ‘princess wedding’ when Sam finally proposes…” He trailed off teasingly. 

It was Jess’ turn to blush. “I think my words were _fairytale_ wedding, Cas… Keep it straight! And those were _private_ confessions! See if I hire you to paint our wedding portrait now!”

Cas’ laugh rang out and Dean was reminded how much he loved Cas’ laugh. “I’m the only art student you know who can paint a halfway decent portrait, Jess,” Cas said. “I’m really not that threatened by that...threat.”

Jess grinned and dropped back against Sam’s chest to relax a little. “Well, that’s your business,” she said impishly. “You just wait until you end up with extra starch in your underwear...or… something.” She stuck out her tongue, and even Dean found himself smiling at the familiar teasing.

“I’ll be right back,” Mary said, standing. “Time to check the bird. Dean you’re in charge while I’m gone… Don’t let these hooligans break anything!”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Uhm… Okay, sure,” he said finally, swallowing. He wasn’t sure what to do with that comment, exactly, but figured that it must be okay since Sam and Jess were only blustering a little more than usual. “You heard the lady,” he said, summoning a little bit of Pretty to gain a foothold in the awkward situation. “No more horsing around!”

Sam grinned right back. “Sir, yessir!” He said earnestly, though his eyes twinkled. He gave a mock salute. “Whatever you say.”

 

Dean relaxed fractionally, his own grin getting a little more natural as Cas’ thumb rubbed across the back of his hand. Family. Yeah. If this was what family meant? He could get used to this.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's this update! Thanks for all the support! Sorry it's not as long as some updates; it's been a rough few writing days. I'm at about 23k words this month; I'm only 15k behind! xD Here's hoping we get another few chapters this weekend! Thanks for everything!

Dean stood on the front porch, feeling oddly reluctant to go. Well, maybe not oddly, considering that Mary was going to leave in the morning. Still, biological mother or not, he’d only known her for three days! And really, only known it was _her_ for two. He shuffled from foot to foot, hands in his pockets. He’d never been keen on goodbyes, and John made even less of a big deal about them, so this was new territory for him.

Mary stood opposite him, and tears shone in her eyes. “I told myself I wouldn’t cry,” she said after a long minute. “I told myself that I’d be able to give you a hug and let you go, but I really don’t think that’s going to be possible.” She swallowed hard and stepped up, hugging him tightly. She inhaled the leather scent of his jacket and then went on her tip toes to kiss his cheek. “I love you, Dean,” she said in his ear, her voice a little hoarse but clear.

Dean swallowed in surprise, pushing down the wave of emotion her heartfelt words evoked. He hugged her back after a moment, and allowed himself to breathe in the scent of her hair where it was pressed at his shoulder. This was _his mother_ , and damnit, he hadn’t wanted this to be so hard! How could he love her? He’d only known her for a weekend! _But she’s your mother_ a voice whispered in his head head. _”You’ve loved her forever.”_

That was true. Before he Presented, before his world changed so horrifically, when his days and nights were spent on the road and in shitty motels, Dean had loved her. He remembered soft hands stroking his cheeks when he couldn’t sleep, and he remembered sweet songs when he woke in the middle of the night. Dean remembered crusts cut off his sandwiches and chocolate milk made _just right_. He remembered all these things, and remembered how heartbroken he was when he’d lay awake at night and cry, because _”Mommy’s gone, Dean, and she’s never coming back. She didn’t want you anymore.”_ Fuck. He’d almost forgotten _that_ particular gift of John’s, the present that kept on giving.

“Love you, too, mom,” Dean whispered. And if it was Little Dean more than grown up Dean saying it now, well, that didn’t make it any less true. Dean hugged her tighter for just a moment, then released her, stepping back and away. He swallowed down his own tears and forced a small smile. “It was great getting to see you,” he said at a more-normal volume. “You’ve got my address, right?”

Mary nodded; she’d managed to get Dean to give up that information before he even could think of leaving for the night. “Yes, Dean, I do,” she said. “And your phone number. And I expect regular calls! Now that you know me, no more leaving it up to Sam for updates, y’hear?”

Dean flushed, nodding a little. “Yes ma’am,” he said, a little less stiff now. “Phone calls twice a month, I remember.” Mary’s hands were lingering on his arms, like she couldn’t bring herself to let go.

“At _least_ twice a month, Dean. And no ‘yes ma’am, I’m still alive’ calls, either! I want at least a twenty minute conversation!”

Dean flushed, but nodded. “If you say so,” he agreed easily. After all, it was nice to know he was going to have _regular, scheduled_ phone calls with his mother.

Mary’s eyes still glistened with tears, but she managed to hold them in. She leaned up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to tell your grandparents about you,” she said. “When I get home. And in a week or two, when they’ve had some time to digest, we’ll talk on the phone. All of us. Okay? They’re going to want to talk to you so much, Dean…”

Dean squeezed his hands, back in his pockets now. “I dunno,” he said finally. “I mean… I don’t know that they will, you know, want to.” After all, he was some stranger to them. He was a man who had been gone for over twenty years; why would they have any reason to want to talk to him?

But Mary shook her head. “They will want to talk to you,” she said immediately. “They’ll want to to talk to you and know everything about you. I promise, Dean. Just promise you’ll think about it?”

Dean forced his smile back on his lips. “Alright. I’ll think about it. But no promises about… About that.”

Mary nodded, reaching across to gently squeeze his bicep. “Fair enough, Dean,” she agreed. She took a deep breath and sighed. “If I could stay longer, I would. I wish I didn’t have to leave already. But I’ll talk to you soon.” She smiled. “You take care of yourself, Dean,” she said, finally, not really sure what else to say, but not wanting Dean to leave.

“You too, mom,” Dean said after a moment. He stood awkwardly for another minute, and then nodded to the door. “You probably oughta get some rest, you’ve got a long drive in the morning.”

“I do, yes,” Mary agreed, though she didn’t move away. It felt so much like abandoning her son again, knowingly this time. She didn’t want to leave, wouldn’t, if she didn’t have to. She stepped forward again and wrapped Dean tightly in a hug. “Goodnight, Dean.” She stepped back and smiled, looking much older and sadder than she had a minute before. “I’ll text you when I stop for the night tomorrow. I’m not as young as I used to be; I don’t try to push through all in one night.”

Dean smiled. “Yeah… That sounds good. I look forward to it. You stay safe.” He glanced at Cas. He really wasn’t used to this kind of thing, this lingering goodbye. With John, he was lucky to get a note saying when he might be back. “Are you ready to go?” Cas was dropping him off, and Dean hoped that his dom would give him a chance at a graceful way out.

“Certainly, Dean.” He smiled. “I will see you all later.” He reached out and took Dean’s arm, since his hand was still in his pocket, and they headed down the steps. Dean slid his hand out and linked fingers with Cas, enjoying the contact. He paused while Cas opened the car door for him, smiling shyly as he slid inside.

“Thanks for the ride home,” Dean said as Cas slid in the driver’s side and shut the door. “I appreciate it. And I know Sam appreciates having a little more time to spend with mom before she leaves.”

“Of course, Dean.” Cas’ smile was earnest and he reached over to squeeze Dean’s hand before backing the car out of their parking space. “You know I am always happy to drive you wherever you would like to go.”

“Yeah, I know… And I know mom said she’d take me, too. But I just needed a little break. I don’t think I could have handled being in the car with her, even just a few minutes home. Does that make sense?” Dean couldn’t face the idea of her seeing his house yet, either. It was one thing for Cas to see it, or Sam, but he knew Mary would judge. She wouldn’t mean to, but she would, and Dean wasn’t ready for that.

“Of course it does,” Cas reassured. “You have been through many things the last few days, it is understandable to want your space.” He smiled as he turned down the road, pausing at a stoplight. “You have been very brave the last few days, Dean. Very forthcoming, more than I believe I would have been in the same situation.”

They pulled up the drive, and Dean cleared his throat. “You know, uhm,” he looked up at Cas and then quickly looked away, “it’s, uhm, it’s not that late. If you know what I mean? I’d like… maybe you’d like,” he paused, trying to force the words out. Why was it so hard?

“Well, you’re here, and it might be nice if… So, uh, do… Do you wanna come in for a few? I mean, tomorrow’s Sunday, so I’m not working… If you wanted to, I dunno, watch a movie or something…” Dean trailed off, cursing the stutter he seemed to have developed since they left Sam’s.

Sometimes he wished he could be Pretty again, flirting from behind the bar, the wide wood top protecting him. He hated being so hesitant, always needing an excuse. Cas was his boyfriend! Why couldn’t he just admit that he’d like him to come inside and watch a movie without needing to justify it? Pretty always knew what to say, but so rarely had to worry about follow-through.

He stared pointedly at his hands, but before he could get too nervous, Cas smiled. “I would love to come in, Dean,” he agreed. He leaned in and tipped Dean’s face up, kissing him softly before popping open his door. He came around to take Dean’s hand when Dean opened his own door, and then followed him up to the porch. Cas wasn’t sure what this was, exactly. There was no trauma like there had been the night before. At least, not the same degree of it. No reason to invite him in except because he wanted to, and Cas really hoped that was the case. Dean might be smarting from the fact that his mother was leaving, Cas couldn’t speak to the truth of that but it seemed to fit. In any case, he wasn’t looking a gift horse in the mouth. If Dean wanted him to come inside, Cas was certainly willing to oblige.

The house looked like Cas remembered it; the salt line was undisturbed, and the books were still neatly piled between bits of mechanical experiments. “You sit,” Dean said, glancing at the couch. “Do you mind if I change into something more comfortable?” He laughed a little bit self-deprecatingly. “Wow. That sounded creepily Sex in the City of me…” He was flushed, but didn’t take the words back. Instead, he nodded at the hallway to indicate where he’d be going. “I’ll grab a couple movies while I’m back there, and we can pick together.”

Cas smiled at him as he took off his own shoes, nodding to Dean. “That sounds wonderful,” he agreed. “Take your time, I’ll be here when you get back.” He headed for the couch, settling down with a sigh of relief. Dean paused to pull off his boots and disappeared down the hall, reappearing a few minutes later in sweats and a Foreigner tee shirt with a couple movies in hand. 

“Alright. We’ve got True Grit… Sons of Katie Elder... “ He held them up, flicking through the cases with more attention to Cas’ face than to the titles. “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid? They’re classics, Cas.”

Cas looked at the options, then shrugged. “Whatever you choose, Dean,” he said with a smile. “I will enjoy any of them. I don’t really watch that many movies, so I don’t know that I’m qualified to comment.”

Dean looked at him sceptically, but then finally picked one and headed to the DVD player. “It’s unnatural, dude,” he said as he returned to Cas’ side. “I mean, these are Jimmy Stewart, James Dean, Clint Eastwood! The heroes of Hollywood! You really oughta have more of an opinion about your movies. Don’t worry, though… I’ll teach you.” He grinned a little and popped the disc in, then went back to settle in with Cas.

“I look forward to it,” Cas said with a laugh, pressing a kiss to Dean’s temple as the sub slid in next to him, tugging the blanket off the back of the couch and wrapping it loosely around the both of them.

Soon they had arranged themselves properly, Dean curled comfortably with his head on Cas’ shoulder. It was the most relaxed he’d felt all weekend, and Cas smiled as Dean shifted just a little. “ ‘S nice Cas,” he said, glancing up at his dom, and Cas nodded in response.

“Yes it is.” 

Dean glanced up at him. “Ready?” When Cas nodded, Dean snaked a hand out and pressed the remote to play. After forwarding through the credits, the title screen appeared and startled a laugh out of Cas. _Winchester ‘73_. Dean’s grin, when he glanced down, told Cas that it had been a calculated choice. “You’ll like this,” Dean promised. “Jimmy Stewart is awesome.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Cas agreed placidly, giving Dean a little squeeze as the opening music played. To be honest, the movie was something Cas was hardly paying attention to. If Dean hadn’t told him, he wouldn’t even be sure who was starring in it; he was much more focused on Dean and the weight of him on his chest. “This was a very good idea, Dean.”

As much as it hurt to see Dean practically preen under the simple praise, it felt good as well. Cas smiled and kissed his forehead, then turned his attention nominally back to the film. It was hard to focus on the movie, though, when Dean was so close and so warm.

The tranquil moment was broken just minutes later by the sound of Dean’s phone going off. It was a tone Cas hadn’t heard before, and Dean went instantly tense, reaching for the remote to mute the TV. “Aw, shit. That’s… It’s John. Gimme… Gimme a minute to see what’s up, okay?”

“Of course Dean, whatever you need,” Cas replied, lifting up his arm so Dean could move easier. The movie played on in silence, and Cas found his eyes drawn to the black and white drama in front of him as the soundtrack of Winchester drama rolled behind him. Damn John! They’d been having such a lovely evening, and Cas felt his stomach clench. Whatever this was, he was sure it would change the tone of their night.

Dean rolled off the couch and walked into the kitchen a few steps away; Cas tried to give him some privacy but in the small house, sound carried. “Hello? Yessir. Sorry; I had to mute the TV. I… What? I can’t. It’s after five, the bank’s closed.” Cas frowned. The bank? Surely that meant that the senior Winchester wanted Dean to send him money. Why would he be doing that? Wasn’t he a… A PI, or something? Cas couldn’t remember, but it certainly didn’t warrant Dean sending him money when he was working two jobs himself to make ends meet.

“No sir, I’m not … I can try to do it tomorrow; maybe Cas can give me a ride in to the city. I bet Walmart’s open on Sundays.” Dean’s tone grew even more stiff, as though he had said something he didn’t mean, and when Cas looked over his shoulder he saw that the other young man had gone rigid and pale. “Who’s Cas? Nobody. He’s just. He’s nobody important. A friend from work. He has a car, he said he’d take me in to town if I needed it, that’s all.”

Cas tried not to let the spark of hurt get too far when he heard that. He knew that Dean didn’t consider his father to be the kind of person who he would tell intimate details to, but after being introduced as ‘boyfriend’ to Mary, it still felt wrong to be demoted to ‘ nobody important, a friend from work’. Especially as it wasn’t strictly true. But he pushed that emotion down; he knew Dean’s feelings for him, and he knew Dean’s relationship with his father. It wasn’t what it sounded like.

Dean was still talking, and Cas tried not to focus too hard on the words. It was none of his business. That didn’t mean that Dean’s tone didn’t come through loud and clear; he was obviously cowed by John.Finally Dean let out a sigh and spoke more meekly. “Yessir. I hear you. I’ll get there. I know you need it; I’ll make sure it happens. First thing in the morning. Uh huh.” And then he tapped the screen to end the call. After a moment of hesitation he wandered back to Cas’ side and plopped on the couch, putting his head in his hands. Cas hesitated for only a moment before rubbing Dean’s shoulder tentatively.

“Dean? Are you alright?” His concern bled through his tone, and he leaned forward to kiss Dean’s forehead. “Dean,” he said again. “It’s alright. Whatever he wanted, we can take care of it.” 

He didn’t answer, curling tightly around himself miserably. He didn’t know what to say. How could he have done that? Not only had he told John about Cas, but then he’d said his dom was _no one_. No one. There was no way Cas hadn’t heard; the house was too small. Even if he hadn’t wanted to hear, he was listening. Absolutely.

“Dean.” Cas' voice was gentle, his hand rubbing tentative circles along Dean's shoulders now in an attempt to draw him out. Damn it! That man had a knack for knowing just when he wasn’t wanted and intruding anyway! “Please, will you look at me?” He leaned in just a little, though he clearly didn't want to crowd his sub. “Dean, I promise, I'm not upset. Will you talk to me? Please?”

It took a long moment more before Dean finally looked up, his eyes shuttered and hurt but the pinched expression of nausea gone. “I'm sorry,” he said, his voice soft. “I didn't mean it. I wouldn't... You're not no one.” He turned his eyes back down to his hands, not able to hold his dom's gaze any longer. 

Cas felt a frisson of fear run through him. What was this? Yes, it was clear that John had rattled him, but Dean was usually better able to shake it off. “I know you didn’t mean it,” he reassured him. “I know we sometimes say things we don’t mean to protect ourselves. There’s nothing wrong with that, Dean.”

His heart clenched as Dean didn’t answer at first. He just pulled away, staring down at his hands. Cas did his best not to panic, just rubbing Dean’s shoulders and holding him gently. What else could he do and not make it worse? Finally Dean did speak. “I’m sorry,” he said again, and Cas felt his heart break a little more at the repetition. “I didn’t mean to ruin the night.”

The joviality from when the movie was playing was gone, and Cas gave in to his desire to pull Dean close. He hugged him and tugged the blanket back up around him. “You ruined nothing,” he said firmly. “We can still watch the movie, if you want.” To be honest, what Cas really wanted was to know the other half of Dean’s conversation, but he wasn’t going to push for that. The movie was a good second choice, though. 

Part of Cas knew he should offer to go home, to let Dean nurse the private wounds John inflicted alone. A bigger part of him didn’t want to ever leave, and was shouting at him to protect, heal, hold. That was the part that was undoubtedly winning. He shifted back to the corner of the couch, tugging Dean with him. His sub didn’t resist, just slid backwards until they were both in a poor mimicry of their position from before John called. 

Dean turned the sound back on, and dropped his head onto Cas’ shoulder again. Cas breathed a small sigh of relief. Dean was relaxing slowly, even if Cas could see the tension still in his neck and shoulders, and Cas resolved to let the movie do the talking for a little while.

The movie played on and Cas kept his hands on Dean, stroking his arms, rubbing his shoulders, making sure Dean knew not to worry. He was wanted and loved, and Cas wasn’t upset. Still, by the time the credits rolled, Dean hadn’t really relaxed all the way. He wouldn’t look up at Cas, and his eyes still were mostly fixed on his hands. Cas’ heart hurt seeing how Dean was so clearly preparing himself for rejection. 

“It’s getting late,” he began tentatively. ‘I know you don’t work tomorrow, Dean, but we both ought to get some sleep.” His words had the desired effect, because Dean finally looked up from his hands, though the sadness on his face made Cas feel awful about his phrasing. He didn’t want to leave Dean to this miasma of dark thoughts alone, but he really wasn’t sure of his welcome.

“You’re right…” Dean stood up and held out a hand to Cas. “I can… walk you to your car?” 

Cas started to nod, but stopped. “Dean, I really don’t want to leave you like this.” He shifted so he could meet Dean’s gaze. “If you would be comfortable with it, I would happily stay here. On the couch, perhaps? I just don’t want you to sleep alone tonight, not with John’s words in your head.” He forced a smile. “Besides, we’re going to go out tomorrow morning, right? It will be easier if I am already here.”

Dean shifted a little bit, his eyes on Cas’ face. “You don’t want to leave?” He seemed baffled by that, and Cas fought down the urge to curse. He wanted to hold Dean close and love him until he forgot about all the terrible things John Winchester and the other doms in his life had taught him.

“No, Dean,” he agreed. “I don’t want to leave, not if you don’t want me to. If you would like me to leave, because it would make you more comfortable, I will. But if you would prefer for me to stay, I am more than happy to do so.”

Dean visibly hesitated, and Cas forced himself not to push. He might want Dean to want him to stay, but he wasn’t going to try to influence him more than he already had. _Give him time. He needs time to figure it out for himself. You’re not going to pressure him. Leave him alone._ The mantra helped him keep a neutral look on his face as Dean processed, but when Dean finally smiled tentatively and nodded, he couldn’t help but wrap his sub in his arms. 

“If you want to stay, really want to stay,” Dean began tentatively. Cas wanted to cut him off, but fought the urge, to let Dean express himself in as much time as he needed. He was rewarded for his patience a few moments later when Dean continued. “You could sleep in the bed, if you want. I did, that is, last night was good. I liked it. If you wanted to do that again.”

Cas didn’t even try to stop the grin that spread across his cheeks. Dean was admitting that it was nice, inviting him to come and stay? He wasn’t going to say no. “Of course,” he agreed, bussing a kiss across Dean’s cheek. “That sounds perfect. Do you happen to have another pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt that I could borrow for tonight?”

Dean nodded. “Oh, yeah, yeah, sure.” He stood up. “I’ll grab ‘em… I think I’m ready to hit the hay, if you are. I mean, if you’re not, we can watch TV a little more? I’m okay with that if you wanna stay up. It’s just been a long day, and I think I’m about ready to sleep… But if you wanna stay up, I’ll sit with you.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas said again. “Truth be told, walking around all day has made me quite sleepy. It would suit me just fine to go to bed now, if you would like to. I’ll just go and brush my teeth and you can bring me those pajamas, I am ready for bed whenever you are.”

Dean relaxed a little at the directness of the task. Cas didn’t need him stressing out; he was right here and he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d never felt so comfortable with someone before Cas, right now. Maybe it was the soulmate thing? “Sounds good,” he said, smiling faintly. He turned and headed for the bedroom while Cas followed behind to branch off at the bathroom door.

Cas located his toothbrush from the night before and quickly set about brushing his teeth. As he was rinsing, Dean knocked tentatively. “I’ve got those PJs,” Dean said, opening the door after a moment. He set a pair of gray sweatpants and a loose tee shirt, Rush this time, on the top of the toilet. “I’ll just… Brush my teeth when you’re done.”

Cas smiled, spitting into the sink and rinsing his brush. “I’ll be just a moment, Dean,” he said, and waited for Dean to close the door before quickly changing into the sweatpants Dean had left him. He stepped back into the hallway and Dean slid past him into the bathroom, emerging less than two minutes later. “Are you ready?”

His sub smiled and nodded. “Yes,” he agreed, and Cas felt his heart lift. Dean looked so much more relaxed than he had before as they went back toward the bedroom. “Why don’t you get comfortable… I’m just gonna go lock up, I’ll be right back.”

“Of course, that sounds fine.” Before Dean passed him, though, Cas caught his wrist and, when Dean paused, kissed his lips. “Hurry back.”

Dean’s blush was as adorable as it always was, and they parted in the doorway. Cas headed for the bed, climbing in and sliding over to make room for Dean. Dean returned just a few minutes later and hesitated only in for a minute before climbing in as well.

“Thanks for staying,” Dean said, keeping his voice low. “I really appreciate it.”

Cas opened his arms, and Dean hesitated for only a moment before sliding in and resting his head on Cas’ shoulder. “Any time, Dean,” Cas said, pressing a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “Anything you need. I am here for you; I _want_ to be here with you.”

“That’s…. So nice, Cas. It is.” Dean curled in close, relishing again the feeling of Cas holding him in his arms. “Thank you.”

Cas smiled and kissed Dean again softly on the lips. “You’re always welcome, Dean. Now go to sleep.”

Dean huffed out a laugh, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “As you wish,” he replied teasingly, closing his eyes obediently. 

“Good night, Dean.” Cas was so glad to feel Dean relax against him. Soon he’d manage to worm past some of John Winchester’s old hurts, but for now he wouldn’t complain about doing triage. Whatever he could do to convince his smart, strong Dean that he _was_ all those things, well, that was what he would do.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaat? Two chapters in one day?????? What is this witchcraft?????
> 
> In all seriousness, though, I'm still about 12k behind, and if I'm going to win NaNo, I really gotta step up my game! SO here's a quick little glimpse into Sam and Mary, because I love them. Utterly unedited.
> 
> Thank you all for your support, it means so, so much to me! If you commented on the last chapter, I read them all! I'll reply individually tomorrow. Today I threw all my effort into these 3.5k words.
> 
> Thanks again for commenting and reading and keeping me going. You're all awesome!
> 
> Dare

Mary flopped down on the chair in the living room. “Well. That was a long day.” She looked up at Sam and Jess, who were sitting side by side on the couch. “Dean never really relaxed, though. I didn’t mean to unsettle him so much.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t think it was you, mom. I mean, he relaxes a lot more when we eat out than when he comes here. I think it’s easier for him when it’s public.” 

Jess nodded her agreement. “Yeah. I mean, this is the longest I’ve ever spent with Dean, but I’ve never seen him totally relax. So it really isn’t you, momma Mary.” 

“Well, that’s good. I mean, I wouldn’t blame him if he _was_ unsettled by me. It’s not really his fault. And I would expect this kind of situation to be very stressful to him.” She shifted, tucking her legs up underneath herself. “It’s a real blessing that Cas ended up being so close with you before the two of them got together… He was a lifesaver when Dean was getting overwhelmed.”

“Yeah. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dean light up the way he did when he was explaining all about the cars to Cas today at the car show.” Jess smiled and dropped her head down onto Sam’s head, letting him tug her close without any kind of protest. “I have to say, momma Mary, it’s great how well you were able to relate to Dean. I know it had to be hard not to want to just… fix everything at once; I know Sam and I have to fight that urge all the time. I’m sure Cas does, too. But Dean really was getting more comfortable with you by the end of the day today; you were handling things just right. Just give him time and be gentle and I’m sure he will warm up to you sooner or later.”

Mary chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Well, thank you Jess,” she said with a wry grin. “It’s not every day one gets parenting advice from their son’s lovely girlfriend. But I’m sure you’re right. Dean did seem like he was settling down. I just hope that it’s not going to be as long and bumpy of a ride as I’m afraid it will be.”

Jess shrugged. “In my behavioral health unit we discussed abuse cases quite a bit, and abused subs are generally more common. Especially when it’s a parental figure, it can cause issues through the lifespan. I’m hoping Dean’s going to blossom like I think he will, now that he’s in a safe and loving relationship. The fact that he works two jobs outside the home and supports himself shows just how strong of a person he really is, so I think now it’s just going to be a matter of convincing _him_ of that… As though there were ever ‘just’ a matter of anything in this kind of situation.”

Sam was beaming with pride as he listened to Jess, and Mary smiled as she looked at her son. Clearly in love, and she couldn’t blame him. Jess was a vivacious, tenacious personality and really was a force unto herself. She knew that Jess would give Sam a run for his money, and that was what he needed. He didn’t want her to kow-tow or grovel and scrape; he needed a partner that would push for his best as well as her own. She was going to make a fabulous doctor one day, and Mary looked forward to seeing that happen.

When Jess finished speaking, she looked up at Sam and flushed faintly, slapping his shoulder. “What? What’re you looking at me like that for? I mean, geeze, you’re more of an expert on abused subs than I am.”

Sam’s grin didn’t fad and he leaned in to buss a kiss against her cheek. “Yeah, well, you’re so sexy when you talk shop, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”

 

Jess smacked him again with a playful huff. “Your mother is _right there_... Keep it in your pants, Campbell.” She was smiling, though, and leaned up to kiss him softly and brush his hair back. “Anyway. On that note, I’m gonna let you and momma Mary have a little time together. I’ve got to get that rough draft finished for Sienman’s class or I’m gonna go nuts.” She unfolded herself from the couch and gave Sam one last kiss, then gave Mary one on the cheek as well as she passed her chair. “G’night, momma Mary. I’ll see you in the morning before you hit the road?”

“Absolutely, Jess,” she agreed, giving her soon-to-be daughter-in-law a hug. “I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. Good luck on that paper. We’re probably gonna hit the diner here this evening, you know, tradition and everything. I’ll make sure Sam brings you back a piece of cherry pie.”

“You’re the best, momma M,” Jess said with a laugh. “You keep him in line, now, don’t let him give you too much trouble.” She grinned over her shoulder and headed toward the hallway with their bedroom. “Night sweetie, I’ll see you later.”

Mary snorted out a laugh. “I’ve been dealing with his snark a lot longer than you, girl,” she said, shaking her head. 

Sam watched her go with a wistful smile, then pushed himself up. “Night, Jess. We’ll get out of here so you can focus on writing… Diner sounds great,” he said, holding out a hand to help his mother stand. “I’ll grab my coat and we can head out.” He couldn’t wait to talk to her about Jess and his upcoming engagement, something they couldn’t do in the house.

It took only a couple minutes to get out of the house, the two of them moving around each other with little touches and a coordination they’d learned after far too many small hotel rooms. Soon they were in the car and Sam flopped back against the passenger seat. “Man. I couldn’t wait to talk to you alone,” he said as Mary pulled the driver’s door shut.

“I still can’t believe you sprung that on me in the _grocery store,_ Sam! You are unbelievable, making me wait all this time to talk to you.” Mary was smiling though, and her eyes were shining. “Oh, honey. I’m so glad for you, I really am. You’re becoming such a wonderful, caring man, and Jess is a wonderful woman.”

Mary knew the way to the diner, since it _was_ a tradition to visit every time she was in town, so she was able to sneak glances at her son while she drove. Sam was blushing, his eyes focused on the road ahead of them. “She’s just so great, mom.” He glanced up at her, then back down toward the road. “I don’t know what I’d do without her. I never thought I’d meet anyone like this, someone I want to talk to all the time. She’s really just perfect. Smart, funny, compassionate, sexy as hell…” His blush grew even deeper when he said that, and he choked a little bit, coughing to clear his throat. “I mean, not that I, uh…”

His mother’s laugh wasn’t the least bit surprising and Mary shook her head as she patted his hand. “Sammy, there is nothing you could say that would surprise me, and calling your soulmate ‘sexy as hell’ is definitely not on that ridiculously short list. If you _didn’t_ find her sexy, or at least attractive _somehow_ , I’d be really surprised.”

“Well I guess you have a point there.” They pulled into the diner and Sam slipped out of the car, heading for the door so he could hold it open for Mary. “That doesn’t make it any less awkward to tell your _mother_ though.” He shook his head and they headed past a ‘please take a seat’ sign for the nearest booth.

“I guess so. I sure as hell never wanted to discuss my love life with your grandparents. They never ‘got’ me.” She grinned cheekily. “But I guess most kids have that problem, don’t they?”

“Yeah, probably.” Sam glanced at his menu, but it was mostly a formality. Belgian waffle with cherries and extra whipped cream was just as traditional as coming to the diner in the first place. The waitress wandered over just a minute later. 

“What can I get you folks?”

“Uh, I’ll have a coffee, and the Belgian waffle. Extra whipped cream, and cherries, please.”

Mary took just a second longer to consider while the waitress copied down Sam’s order. “I’ll have the french toast; extra strawberries, extra whipped cream, and a tea. Thank you.”

“Alright…” The waitress finished scrawling Mary’s order. “That’s a tea and a coffee, a belgian waffle, cherries and extra whipped cream, and french toast with extra strawberries and whipped cream. That’ll be right out folks.”

Sam leaned back after he handed her his menu, fiddling with the little edge of his paper placemat. “So do you think it’s too soon?” He spoke as soon as the waitress was gone, jumping back to their previous conversation without preamble. “I mean, I know we’ve only known each other like, a year, but… I’ve never felt like this with anyone else.”

Mary smiled. “Well Sam,” she said, patting his hand. “I think that you’re an excellent judge of character. You always have been. And Jess is, as I’ve said, a wonderful woman. And she’s your soul mate! I know, I know, that’s not a be-all, end-all, but it _is_ an important consideration. And anyway, like you said. You don’t need to get married right now. You’re both in school and have a lot going on, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with getting engaged now and making the declaration that you intend for a formal collaring to happen later. You two are really good together, and I’m happy for you.”

Sam relaxed a little. It was good to know that his mother trusted his judgement. There was a lot he was willing to do on his own, but, well. Mother knows best, right? “I was thinking of asking her right before Christmas break, since we’ll be travelling to her folks house and then back to yours. She already told me she doesn’t want me to ask her dad for permission, because she’s ‘her own person’.” The implied air quotes didn’t diminish the seriousness of Sam’s tone. “And I agree. I mean, she’s a premed student! She’s going to be responsible for other people’s lives some day… And there’s no law against it. So… I haven’t asked permission, not really. But we _have_ discussed it, the four of us. Both her parents made it pretty clear that they were okay with me marrying her. I just hope… I know they’re supportive. It just feels weird to be thinking about asking without formal permission. To hear grandpa talk, it’s like a cardinal sin!”

“Well, your grandfather came from a different time, Sam,” Mary reminded him gently. “And what worked for them doesn’t need to work for you now. Do whatever makes you and Jess happy. I happen to agree with both of you; Jess is out here now, on her own. There’s no reason to ask for her father’s permission, since he’s essentially sent her out into the world anyway. Subs aren’t property, regardless of what collaring might imply, and I think you and Jess both know that.”

Sam nodded, then leaned back as the waitress reappeared. “Coffee and a waffle,” she said as she set his food down in front of him. “And a tea with french toast. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Sandie,” Sam said, glancing at the waitress’ name tag. He picked up his fork, taking a big bite of his food to chew while he gave himself a minute to think. “I know she’s not property,” he said after he finally swallowed. “And I don’t ever want her to feel that way. But I don’t want her parents to resent me, either… And even though we live all the way out here on the coast, sometimes I think the midwest boy in me is a little too strong for my liking.”

Mary laughed, shaking her head. “Don’t worry about that, Sam,” she said. “You just do what works for you and Jess, and try not to think too hard about everyone else. There will always be someone who disagrees, or will judge you for your choices. At the end of the day, though, it’s you and Jess who have to live with them, so you’re the only two who matter. As long as you aren’t breaking any laws, that is.”

“Harhar,” Sam said with a small chuckle. “Trust me, that’s the very first thing they tell us in pre-law… if you’re thinking of breaking any laws, _don’t_. But… It’s good to know you think I’m doing the right thing. With Jess, and Dean, and everything. I don’t know what I would do if I were in Dean’s shoes, without anyone to turn to. He calls these chick-flick moments, by the way.” He grinned. “Like talking things out is some kind of weakness or something.”

Mary’s answering smile was sad. “He would think that. John never did like talking. A man of action, that one. But Dean’s strong, and I know if you were in his shoes, you would be too. Both of you are good, capable men, and I’m so glad I get to know both of you now.”

“Me too,” Sam agreed. “And wow. I can’t get over how weird a coincidence it is that we both ended up here. I mean, Stanford? How the heck did we both end up way up here in Cali when we both grew up midwest? As much as Dean grew up in one place, anyway.”

Mary grew silent at that, thinking. “Well, Sam,” she said. “I don’t know. But I don’t really believe in coincidence, and I think that probably there’s a reason you’re both here. You two… I don’t think you ever should have been separated, and I say that as more than a mother. There’s always been something between the two of you. When you were a baby, Dean was _such_ a good helper. He doted on you, Sammy. Every second he was awake. I don’t remember him ever getting frustrated, or angry with you. It was always “Can I help feed Sammy?” “Can I hold Sammy?” “Is Sammy sleepy?” He was always focused on you, a hundred percent.” 

She sighed, pushing a piece of french toast around her plate forlornly. “And you were always so good for him. You could be crying your head off, and if Dean climbed up next to me and took your hand, all it would take was ‘don’t cry, Sammy’, before you would settle down. Sometimes, I’d wake up in the middle of the night to hear you wanting to be fed or changed, and by the time I got there Dean would already be up, trying to soothe you. That night, the night of the fire…” She had to stop and clear her throat. “I’ll never forgive myself. He’d gotten up to help me once, and I told him that he could stay in bed. I’d take care of you. And he did it… And when you woke up again, because the nursery was burning, I went to your room first.” 

She choked up a little, tears brimming in her eyes. “I went to your room first, and I got you out, and I don’t regret that, Sam. I don’t. But if I hadn’t told him to stay in his room first, he’d have been with us. If he hadn’t been such a good, obedient little boy, I could have saved you both.”

The tears won the battle and rolled down her cheeks, and Sam dropped his fork to reach across the table for Mary’s hand. “Hey, hey, mom… Mom… It’s not your fault. You know that. You _know_ that. And Dean doesn’t blame you for what happened. You couldn’t have known; there was no way to predict what would happen that night!”

He slid out of the booth and came around to her side, glad that it was pretty late and there weren’t many other people in the diner. It was too late for the dinner crowd and too early for the drunks coming in after last call, so they were mostly alone. He couldn’t imagine his mother, who rarely ever spoke about the time before they left John, having this breakdown with an audience.

“You were both my babies, Sam,” she said, her voice clear despite the tears. “And I didn’t do right by him. I let John tell me to run, I let him tell me to get out of the house, and I let him tell me your brother was dead. And I lived for over twenty years _knowing_ that I let my baby burn to death, Sam, and it _was all my fault.”_

Sam hugged his mother a little tighter. He’d always known that she felt this way, on some level, but she’d never articulated it just like this. He felt like he should have expected this breakdown sooner, but then, who can predict a thing like this? The whole weekend she’d seemed like she was handling it pretty well, and Sam hadn’t even thought about the bad memories it must have ignited, to see her ‘dead’ son practically resurrected as an adult, with as many hurts as Dean had. 

Mary pulled herself together after only another few moments, and reached for a napkin to wipe her eyes before taking a long pull of her tea. “Thank you, Sam,” she said, clearing her throat when it cracked a little. “I’m alright. It’s just been a long weekend.”

Sam smiled wryly, taking the dismissal as what it was and slipping back to his own side of the booth. “I bet,” he agreed, squeezing her hand again before picking his fork back up. “So… What time are you planning on leaving in the morning?”

The change of topic wasn’t exactly surprising, and Mary was grateful for her son’s perceptive nature. “Oh, probably between five thirty and six. Late enough to say goodbye, if you two feel like getting up early. Jess was saying at lunch she’s getting up pretty early since she’s going to that yoga class early most mornings, so I’ll get to say goodbye to her, at least.” She smiled a little more sharply at Sam. “You might have to make do with a goodbye tonight.”

Sam laughed, shaking his head. “Maybe. I can probably stumble out of bed long enough to give you a hug before you go. I can always go back to sleep.”

“That’s good. I’d hate not to get to see you before I go.” She took a bite of her French toast, trying to ground herself for the conversation, and she turned it back to happier things. “So you’re going to ask Jess right before the holidays. That’s a good time. Just make sure you don’t make a fool out of yourself when you do it.” She grinned teasingly. “Like forgetting the ring at home. I’m sure she’d forgive you, but she’d never quit bringing it up.”

Sam groaned. “Mom, it was _one time_ that I forgot my trumpet. Once!”

“Yeah, but it was the day you were auditioning for first chair and had to use a school loaner.” Mary shook her head. “I still think you could have had first chair if you had remembered the instrument I _paid for_. So don’t forget the ring when you propose; you’ll never live it down.”

He laughed, still blushing red from remembered embarrassment. “Yes ma’am.” he agreed. He dug back into his waffle to discourage further conversation until he could get his wits back about him. He was down to his last three bites, Mary eating as well, when he finally spoke again.

“So I’m going to propose… Do you think gramma and grampa will like her?” He really didn’t want to admit the ball of anxiety that little question engendered, but next to his mother and Jess, they were the most important people in his life. 

“Like her?” Mary smiled. “I’m sure they’ll love her. Oh, she’ll shake things up a bit when you bring her home the first couple times, but they’re going to love her just as much as you do, Sam. How could they not? Like you said yourself, she’s smart, compassionate and friendly. She’ll win them over in no time. Hell, she could probably just make enchiladas and then do the dishes, that’d win gramma over no contest. And you know grampa follows where gramma goes. Don’t you worry, kiddo, it’ll all be fine.”

Sam chuckled as he took his last bite of waffle, then took a swig of his coffee. “Thanks, mom,” he said, reaching to squeeze her hand again. “I’m really glad you came up this weekend. Really. It’s been great.” 

Mary nodded, squeezing his hand back. “Me too, kiddo, me too.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I know it's been a while since the last update... I'm sorry! I'm really, really undisciplined. :( BUT this chapter is like, 9.5k so that maybe makes up for some of it? To anyone who wonders, I didn't hit 50k. I hit 31k, all words for this story. They were not, however, all chronological words for this story, so there are about 12k floating in the googledoc cloud, waiting for the plot to wind their way over to them. Oops? But thanks to everyone who cheered me on, I really appreciate it! I think I underestimated the pain in the butt that it is to write and edit AND hit 1667 words a day. There's always next year!
> 
> Anyway, thanks to everyone who's been waiting so very patiently, and thanks to the ever patient, ever wonderful Lisa for reminding me to 'quit dithering and just write already.' Without her, this would not be! Here's the chapter. Enjoy!

Dean whistled as he walked into the garage on Monday morning. Cas’ kiss from the night before when they finally parted still tingled on his lips, and if he happened to have a spring in his step, well, who was gonna say anything about it?

 

“You look chipper this morning, Dean,” Mal teased from just inside the office. Dean jolted a little bit, but couldn’t summon even the little bit of annoyance to glare. Instead he shrugged and continued on into the locker room to slip on his overalls over his clothes. 

“Well, thanks,” he said instead of snarking, surprising even himself. Cas staying the night had resulted in two of the best nights sleep Dean had had in a very long time, and as a result Dean felt much more rested and ready than usual. He wasn’t sleepwalking his way through the day today. He dropped his jacket into the locker and shimmied into his overalls, coming out to see Mal watching him with a smile.

“What?” He glared up at his boss, eyes playfully narrowed. “A guy can’t have a good couple days off without getting the third degree?”

“Well, not when the guy usually walks in here half asleep until he gets his first cup of coffee…” Mal smiled. “But I can’t wait to hear all about the weekend that put a smile on Dean Winchester’s face on a Monday morning. And _whistling,_ if you can believe it.”

Dean stuck out his tongue as he grabbed his clipboard to show him the first job of the day. “Well the car show this weekend was _awesome_. There were a couple cars that were really amazing.. They had this Hemi Cuda. A Hemi Cuda! Damn, it was in gorgeous shape.” 

“Wow, really?” Mal glanced at Dean, who was still practically vibrating with excitement.

“Yeah… There were a lot of cars even I didn’t recognize right away… I didn’t think there were so many classic cars in this part of the country.”

“Well, California is a good place for classic cars,” Mal agreed with a shrug. “It’s temperate, decent property values, and a lot of rich people.’ He laughed a little, stepping up next to Dean to glance at what they were going to do first.

Dean’s eyes went dreamy again. “Man… There was this Shelby. She was _so_ gorgeous. I wanted to climb in the driver’s seat and take off.” He grinned. “At lunch I’ll show you some of the pictures on my phone. Sam kept stealing it and making me pose. I think he took more pictures of me yesterday than I’ve had in the rest of my life.”

Mal listened to Dean wax poetic about the Shelby with an indulgent smile on his face. He wished he’d pushed harder a couple years ago when that GT fixer-upper had come in. It would have been an investment for Dean, and certainly would have taken some work, but he had no doubt Dean could have done it. Dean was the kind to take pride in working with his own two hands; it would have been a beautiful car. At the time, Dean had declined, saying there was no way he could take something like that for himself. Now? Mal would put money on that being the elder Winchester’s influence, and wasn’t that unfair? Dean loved cars so much, it seemed a crime that he didn’t have one of his own to tinker on.

“I’m glad to hear you had a good time at the car show with your family. That’s nice.” The rest of the mechanics began to filter in, one at a time, but Mal and Dean were working together so Mal didn’t pay them much attention. They knew their jobs, so Mal let them get to it. “How was it with your mother?”

Dean froze for a long moment before he was able to answer. “Uhm. Well, it went pretty well, I think. I mean… I wasn’t really sure what to expect, you know? I didn’t know much about her except what Sammy had to say about her and stuff. But she’s actually really cool, I think. She’s definitely good on the grill… And… She liked Cas.” He smiled weakly. “That counts, right? I mean… I kind’ve known him longer than I’ve known her, you know?”

“Of course it counts, Dean! He’s your dom. He’s important to you, and yes, you _have_ known him longer than you’ve known your mother, as an adult. It’s a serious thing to worry about, and I’m glad you don’t feel like you have to sacrifice your relationships for each other, or try to get between them.”

A wave of relief flushed through him. It was good that Mary was accepting, of course it was. But Dean didn’t know how to put up with her for long periods of time. “She wants to be my mom. I mean, I know she _is_ my mom, but I think she wants to go back to when I was a little kid. And I can’t do that, you know? For better or worse, this is who I am now. I don’t think John did a _total_ shit job with me… I mean, I turned out okay, didn’t I?”

“What? Of course you did,” Mal retorts, affronted. He remembered the scrawny kid that came so hesitantly into his office freshly scrubbed and eager. “But I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again… That’s really more of your own doing. Nature versus nurture and all that shit. You’re right though. You can’t go back to the little boy she lost. You’re never going to be that again. That doesn’t mean you can’t have a fulfilling adult relationship. It’s just going to take a little while for both of you to find your feet. Don’t get discouraged. All relationships take time, and both of you have expectations you need to break down.”

“That’s a good point,” Dean agreed, reaching in to the toolbox and swapping out his wrench. “I don’t know. I mean, she’s really cool but I don’t know what to do with her, you know? How do I relate to someone that wants me to be something I’m not?”

“Well, she’s going to have to come to terms with the fact that you’re not her little boy. But Dean, she _is_ your mother, and there are things she will want to help with, to mother you a little bit. And that’s really not such a bad thing, either. You deserve a little bit of mothering, Dean.”

Dean’s blush was mostly hidden by the shadow of the hood he was working under. “Well. I’m not sure about that. But she really does seem nice enough to me, and I’m not going to like… Cut her off. I don’t know.” He shrugged again. “She’s pretty cool, anyway.”

“Well good, I’m glad,” Mal said. He took a minute to go and get the part they needed, and when he returned he had a little, sly smile on his face. “So speaking of Cas… how’s that going?” He sidled up close, nudging Dean’s shoulder with one elbow. “I mean the two of you have been pretty much attached at the hip since you met, so I’m curious how that’s going.”

Dean made a face. “Wow, subtle much? But… It’s going good.” He busied himself for a minute just focusing on the engine. “Mal… In your opinion… Is it… Wrong of me to want to wait a little more? Before we… You know. Go all the way.” He couldn’t believe how much like a seventh grader he sounded. Mal knew he had sex, or rather, _didn’t_ anymore. Mal was okay with it. So why was it still so damn embarrassing to ask about it? He’d asked Mal where to go to get his _nipples pierced_ , for God’s sake. “I mean, I just kinda feel… guilty, you know? I know he wants to do it and… I trust him. More than I trust anyone I’ve dated before. And I’m kinda worried I’m sending him mixed signals.”

“Well, Dean, I don’t think that you really have to worry too much. I mean, he’s your _soulmate_ , I don’t think he’d mind a little wait. And you’re doing other things together, right? I’m sure he’d rather be with you when you’re comfortable, than push for something you’re not ready for. What kind of mixed signals?”

“Well… it’s been a rough couple days, you know, with Mary around? She said some stuff, not trying to be mean or anything, but it put me on edge. And Cas… Well, I asked him to stay with me. And I told him it wasn’t going to be anything funny! I mean, he knew it! But still… Isn’t it bad form to let a guy sleep in your bed without, you know, putting out?”

Mal didn’t even try to hide the surprise on his face. “You let him stay at your house?” Mal hadn’t even been inside Dean’s house, and they’d known each other for years. He could hardly believe that Dean had let a _dom_ into his house and, further, into his _bed_.

Dean’s flush darkened, running further down his neck. “Yeah,’ he admitted. “Friday it was kind of an accident? By the time he was dropping me off it was really late, and he walked me to the door and we both got soaked, and so I had him come in to try off, but I didn’t want him to go… So he stayed. And then Saturday he came over after dinner. We watched a movie, and John called… And I needed to go into town to do something for him on Sunday, and Cas offered to drive, so it just made more sense for him to stay.” He kept his eyes firmly focused on the car in front of him, not really wanting to look at Mal and risk seeing disappointment or disapproval in his face. 

“Well, Dean, that’s… I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I mean, he knew what he was getting into, right? As long as you made yourself clear what your expectations were when you started, then he shouldn’t have a problem with it.”

“You think so?” Dean was silent a few more minutes after that, thinking. “I don’t know why he puts up with me,” he said finally, his head still down in the engine. “I know I sure as hell wouldn’t want an insecure sub with low self esteem and fuckin’ panic attack triggers.”

He sounded miserable, even under the bustle of the garage. His mind reeled back to the first time he’d seen Dean. He stood shivering outside a convenience store waiting to see if anyone took the tabs from the flyer he put up looking for work, and had looked so hopeful when Mal put up his own ad. Mal set a hand on his shoulder. “Dean, look at me,” he said firmly, waiting until the young mechanic pulled his head out from under the hood and met his eyes. “You have _valid reasons_ for the issues you have, and _nobody_ gets to tell you that you can’t have them, got that? You’ll work through them at your own pace. Now, I’d be lyin’ if I didn’t admit that I want to see you strong and confident and living up to your potential. But you’re already doing a damn good job and I want you to know that it’s just gonna take as long as it takes, got it?”

Dean couldn’t keep meeting Mal’s eyes and looked down, staring at his hands. “Yessir,” he mumbled, and then caught himself. Shit. “Yes, Mal,” he said after a moment, forcing himself to look back up. He knew Mal didn’t like to be ‘sir-ed’ and he really couldn’t blame him. It didn’t carry many positive connotations for Dean, either. “Let’s… Let’s get back to this engine.”

Mal watched him for a long moment but then nodded. In some ways Dean never changed from the eighteen-year-old who came into him for a job and promised he was a hard worker, punctual and a team player. He smiled at his young friend and nodded. “Alright, Dean,” he agreed. They went back to work for nearly twenty minutes before either of them spoke again. It was companionable; they didn’t need to joke around or chat while they worked. They both knew how the other one worked and they stepped together with precision.

“He invited me to a craft show,” Dean said finally, not looking up from the nut he was tightening. “On Saturday, I mean. He’s got a booth of some paintings he’s done, and I guess he does like, caricatures?” He flushed again. “I don’t know what the heck to wear to a craft show… I don’t really fit in with the soccer moms, you know.”

Mal was startled into a laugh. “Well, Dean, I think you just need to go with it. Jeans and a tee shirt, maybe ditch the leather coat for a jacket if you have one. I don’t think it’ll matter, really. He knows what you dress like, Dean, and if he was really concerned about it I’m sure Cas would have mentioned it.” He grinned. “So you’re gonna go help man his booth, huh?”

Dean nodded. “He phrased it more as ‘keeping him company’ while he had downtime at the show. I’ve never been to a craft show, Mal…” He looked up. “Did Sue ever drag you to one?”

His boss chuckled again. “I’ve been to a couple. There’s usually kitschy things, embroidery, fleece, stuff like that. Sometimes stuff like what Cas does, sometimes woodworking. There’s all kinds of things; hell, you should probably bring some pocket money. They’re good places to get Christmas presents.”

“Well that’s reassuring,” Dean said, though he really didn’t sound reassured at all. “But at least it sounds like I won’t be the only one there who doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.” He gave a short bark of self-deprecating laughter and Mal whacked his shoulder. 

“Knock that off, Dean… There’s nothing wrong with never having been to a craft show.”

“Yeah, well, says the married guy. I’m not used to wanting to impress people, Mal. It’s weird.”

Mal laughed. “Well, you’ll get used to it. And anyway, it seems like you impress Cas just by existing, so really, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Dean forced a smile, changing the topic rather abruptly. “Thanks, Mal,” he said, stepping back and slamming the hood closed. “Alright. That’s done… Who’s next?”

Mal chuckled. “That’s what I love about you, Dean… No slackin’ from you, not even when I first met you. And if it helps you keep away from uncomfortable topics, more’s the better, yeah?”

“Hey! I’m not deflecting… much. And if I never slacked, well, that’s because teenage me was too damn scared of a lot of things to risk slacking off from the first guy that offered me a decent job.”

“You always were a good worker, Dean,” Mal protested. “Scared or not. From the first minute you walked into my shop you were all business. Even if you were a scrawny little thing that I would have rather taken home and fed a hot meal.”

Dean pulled a face. “Yeah… Thanks for… Not doing that. I don’t think my eighteen year old pride could take it.” He laughed a little bit. “But… Fine. In the interests of not deflecting. D’ you think I can find Cas a Christmas present at that craft show? I haven’t gotten him one yet. I’ve never bought someone a present that might _mean something_ , yanno?”

“I’m sure you’ll find the perfect thing,” Mal agreed. “And even if you don’t, I’m sure he won’t mind. If he’s anything like Sue, just being with you will be enough.”

 

Dean pulled a face. “Yeah, yeah… You’re such a sap, Mal.”

The older man chuckled, clapping Dean on the shoulder and then steering him toward their next job. “If you say so, Dean. If you say so.”

**~~~~~~**

Friday night, Dean leaned on the bar as he passed Cas a rum and coke. “So you’re going to pick me up in the morning, right? I mean…” He flushed a little. “I’d invite you to stay over but I bet you’ve got stuff to pack up for the show.”

“Yes, I do.” Cas smiled, patting Dean’s hand as he took his drink, then passed a few bills across the bar. “But we have to be there at eight, so I will need to pick you up by seven thirty.”

Dean winced.”The things I do for you, man,” he said, shaking his head. He spoke again before Cas could when he saw the look on his dom’s face. “Don’t give me that look. I’ll be there.” Sometimes he was grateful for Pretty; he could say things at the bar he’d never be able to say outside of it. No matter what Cas said, there were things subs just didn’t say. Pretty could say them, though. He wasn’t the same kind of sub Dean was. 

Cas smiled. “I didn’t doubt you, Pretty,” he said mildly, sipping at his drink. “So no, I will stay at home and come to pick you up in the morning. Unless… You would like to stay with me?”

Dean blinked; it was the first time Cas had offered such a thing, and as much as he might want to on some level, he shook his head. “No, uh. Thanks. I mean, I’d like to, but it’ll be easier if you get to go home and get some sleep.” He didn’t want Cas waiting at the bar for him until he got off, and he didn’t want to have to knock on Sam’s door at three in the morning after he walked across town to his place. By and large it just wasn’t a great idea. 

“I suppose you are right,” Cas said, regretfully. “Some other time, then.” He took a drink, and blinked when Tracy came up with a plate of fries. 

“On the house,” she said, as she always did. Cas had given up arguing that he ought to pay for them; Tracy always waved him off. “Hey, the guy who could get Pretty out of the house more than to work is totally worth a plate of fries or two.” She grinned and nudged Dean’s shoulder. “Go ahead, take fifteen… I know he’s gonna head out soon. I’ll take care of things over here.”

Dean smiled at her as a flush spread across his cheeks. “Thanks, Trace.” He turned his attention back to Cas, taking a fry and crunching on it. He flushed more deeply as he noticed Cas’ eyes drawn to his lips as he licked the cheese sauce where it had stuck to him. It was strange; the more time he spent with Cas, the harder it was to keep Pretty and Dean separate. They were bleeding into one another, and Dean wasn’t sure he minded. Sometimes. “So… What’s the deal with the show? I mean, you still haven’t told me what to wear, or what I’ll be doing.”

“Pretty, I _have_ told you. Dress comfortably. Wear what you like. It isn’t important. You’ll be… With me. I thought it might be nice to have some time with just the two of us. So you can help me man the cash box, or wander around. Whatever makes you happy. I will just enjoy spending time with you.”

Dean looked at him a little sceptically. “If you say so,” he agreed with a small shrug. He took another fry, thinking for a moment. “So you’re going to do your caricature things, and I’m going to… Sell the paintings?”

“That sounds perfect to me,” Cas agreed. “There will probably be a lot of down time; you can wander if you want. They usually have a bake sale, and sometimes other foods. We’ll do lunch there, and be done by five or so.”

“Okay. I think that sounds pretty good.” He squeezed Cas’ hand as his dom took another fry, then took another swig of his drink. “I am excited. To get to see what you do, you know?” 

“Yes. I have seen so much of what you do, I am excited to get to share some of my hobbies with you.”

Dean’s smile grew, but as he glanced at the clock he realized that it was nearly midnight. “Shit. You should probably go. _One_ of us should be not totally sleep deprived tomorrow.”

Cas heaved a put upon sigh, squeezing Dean’s hand. “You’re right, of course, Pretty.” He said with a teasing smile. He turned to gather his trenchcoat, pausing when Dean cleared his throat.

“Hey.”

“Yes?” He froze in surprise when Dean leaned across the bar and brushed their lips together. 

“Drive safe,” Dean said, the flush even brighter on his cheeks. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Cas cleared his throat, smiling as he nodded. “Of course, Pretty. I’ll see you then.”

Tracy waited all of thirty seconds after the door closed behind Cas before rounding on Dean. “Oh my goodness, Pretty, you did _not_ just kiss him!” She was grinning broadly, squeezing his shoulder as she swept up the now-empty fry plate. “Pretty, you done good!”

“Shut up, Trace,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck. He grabbed a mug and began to rinse it clean. “He’s… Just…”

She cackled as she passed him, patting his shoulder. “I know, I know. Everything you need. I’ve had a couple of those. I’m happy for you, Pretty. Really, I am.”

Dean kept his eyes firmly on the bar. “Thanks, Trace… Thanks.”

**~~~~~~**

Saturday morning Dean was up bright and early. He’d taken some good natured teasing from Tracy after Cas. Since he and Cas had started dating more regularly, Cas hadn’t come back to the bar as often. Dean didn’t think Pretty had blushed as hard as Tracy had made him do the night before. It felt… Nice, though. Nice that someone _liked_ him enough to tease him about his boyfriend and not have it be intentionally mean. He had a _boyfriend_ to be teased about! He was still wrapping his mind around that one.

The craft show found him waking much earlier than usual, but he didn’t mind. The twist of excitement in his stomach that he always felt when he knew he was going to be seeing Cas easily overwhelmed the tiredness he felt. He showered and dressed, in a plain tee and jeans, and headed into the kitchen to start breakfast and coffee. Breakfast burritos; those were portable and easy, and knowing Cas, he wouldn’t think to eat before heading out and they’d have to stop somewhere.

By the time he’d finished frying bacon and sausage and scrambling eggs with cheese, he heard the car rolling up in the driveway. He jogged to the door, opening it just as Cas knocked. “Hey, come in… Did you get to eat?”

Cas shook his head. “No… I thought we could stop at McDonalds on the way to the show.”

Dean chuckled. “I thought you might say that. Gimme two seconds; I’m making us some breakfast burritos. Way cheaper, since I already had the stuff. I’ve just gotta get them rolled up.”

Cas followed him obediently back into the kitchen, and Dean nodded at the cabinet. “Go ahead and get the coffee mugs out? There should be a couple travel mugs there for the coffee.”

While Cas got out the coffee mugs, Dean layered the chopped bacon and sausage into tortillas, covered them with eggs, cheese, sour cream and salsa, then rolled them in tinfoil to keep them hot. “Ready to go?”

Cas nodded. “Whenever you are.” He held up the two mugs of coffee, smiling as Dean gathered the burritos and a few napkins. “Thank you, Dean… You never cease to surprise me with your thoughtfulness… I’m sure these will taste much better than McDonalds.”

Dean shrugged. “Well, I just figured it saved us a stop.” He let Cas precede him out of the house, pausing to lock the door before heading down to the car. He slid into the car and took the coffee mugs so Cas could get in on his side. The back seat was full of Rubbermaid tubs, and Dean thought he could see an easel on the floor. “Wow. A lot of stuff.”

“Yes. I probably won’t sell all of it, but I like to have a variety of stock. Of course, I will also have the materials to do the caricatures on site.” He smiled. “I’d really like to draw you, if you don’t mind. It is good to have fresh drawings, and if I draw you when people start coming in, it will bring attention to my booth.”

A pleased smile spread across Dean’s face, and he nodded. “Uh, sure. If you want.” He took a swig of his coffee, but looked up at Cas shyly. “That sounds good.” They drove in silence for a while, finally pulling in to the First United Methodist church. Dean let out a low whistle. “That’s a big church.”

Cas nodded. “Yes. We will be in their gymnasium.” He pulled around the back of the church where Dean could see cars and minivans filling up the parking spaces. Cas pulled in to the closest empty space he could find to the big double doors; it wasn’t very close at all, really. “Alright. If you pull things out and stack them next to the car, I’ll run in and find out our table assignment; I’ll bring the food and put it there, then come help you tote things in.”

Dean nodded, popping his door. “That sounds fine,” he agreed, passing over the food and his coffee. Cas leaned over for a quick kiss before he stepped out of the car and then jogged into the church where soccer moms and old ladies seemed to be toting in tubs of their own.

Dean busied himself pulling the rubber maids out of the back seat. They weren’t as heavy as he had expected, but there were several of them. He began to stack them up next to the car, then set up Cas’ big easel and big stack of paper, presumably for the caricatures. He glanced at the door, then decided to go find Cas. He was plenty strong; he’d be able to help Cas out. He had most of the tubs with his first trip, stumbling once when he heard his name just as he reached the door.

“Dean! I thought I told you I’d help you!” Cas didn’t sound angry, but he _did_ sound bemused. “You didn’t have to take them all yourself.”

Dean flushed. “I, ah, just thought I’d help. There’s still the big easel and another tub at the car. Just, uh, point me where to set these down and I’ll go get it. What’s the point of having muscle around if you don’t use it?”

Cas frowned and very pointedly pulled the top tub down and into his own arms. “You are not ‘the muscle’, Dean,” he said firmly. “You are my _boyfriend_ , who I invited to _spend time with_ , not a _pack mule_.” 

He shook his head, a look of discomfort twisting his lips, and nodded about halfway down the room where a table stood with their burritos and coffee mugs. “We’re sitting right there.” He headed that way and Dean followed obediently. Cas set his tub down. “There should be a tablecloth in that bin,” he said,nodding to the one Dean held. “Go ahead and cover the table while I get the other things from the car. You can start setting up the small easels and stands if you want.”

Dean flushed. Damn it; he hadn’t wanted to make Cas mad! He nodded. “Alright,” he agreed, glancing over at Cas before kneeling to pop the tub open. Cas gave him one more look before shaking his head and turning to the door. _Damn it, Winchester… You’re an idiot_ Dean thought. Cas had _told_ him he wanted to help. Why had he thought it was a good idea not to wait for his dom? 

_Stop it,_ he told himself firmly. Cas wanted him to set up the table; he could do that. He pulled out the white tablecloth, laying it out and smoothing it meticulously. A large rack was underneath, and when he pulled it out, he realized it was several interlocking pieces of wire frame that he could hook together and stand on the table. Dean didn’t waste time figuring it out, and before Cas came back, he had the small easels set up on the table around the large frame. 

The next box contained easels and prints, and Dean couldn’t help but linger as he pulled them out. He hadn’t seen many of Cas’ drawings, and these still lifes and landscapes were very different from the cow-and-spaceship he’d seen at home. Still, Cas’ attention to detail was evident in each and every piece. Dean found himself staring as he pulled out a painting of a car. It was a convertible, Mustang, and he smiled. Even bright yellow instead of pale blue, he’d recognize it as one they’d posed next to at the car show. 

He startled out of his reverie as Cas came up behind him and set down the last tub. “Ah, you found my convertible. I thought the yellow suited the background better than the blue did.”

Dean set it down with a flush. “Yeah. It looks good. I’m sorry, I didn’t get everything set up… I got distracted.”

Cas frowned, tilting his head. “Dean. I didn’t expect that you would get to do it all… I looked forward to working with you to set it up.” He reached to take Dean’s hand. “I hope you didn’t think I was… angry, about you bringing in the boxes? Because I was not. I was just startled; I thought it was clear that I wanted you to come to spend time with me. I’d be happy even if you did _nothing_ , because you’re _here_.”

Dean couldn’t bring himself to meet Cas’ eyes, but he didn’t pull away. “I know. I just figured that it was easier if I did it.” 

Cas smiled, leaning up to kiss Dean’s cheek softly. “I do thank you for your help,” he said earnestly. “I just don’t want you thinking you need to earn your time here, that’s all.” He squeezed Dean’s hand and then released it, turning to the tubs of paintings. “However, we _do_ need to get these set up, if you’re ready?”

Dean nodded. “Sure,” he agreed. “Let’s do it.” He took a tub of the paintings and pulled them out to set them down on the edge of the table, glancing at them quickly. Flowers in one pile, fruit in another, seascapes in a third. Fruit, more fruit… Wow, no wonder Cas was driving himself crazy prepping for this thing! How many people really wanted pictures of fruit?

By the time he’d sorted his stack, Cas had hung most of them from his tub up on the racks. Dean looked them over and his fingers itched to rearrange them. What was he thinking? Fruits next to forests next to the car. No order, whatsoever. How was someone supposed to find something they wanted? He glanced at Cas, who seemed to be busying himself opening another tub, so Dean inched his way down to Cas’ side of the table. 

‘Hey, uh, I got this.” He said tentatively. “Why don’t you work on the easel for your caricatures? I can get these up.”

Cas glanced at him and smiled. “That sounds good, Dean,” he agreed, pushing the last tub of paintings over to Dean and then turning to start setting up his stool and easel for the caricatures. 

Dean waited until he was sure that Cas was absorbed, before he began rearranging the paintings. Soon he’d gotten all the paintings up and sorted by type, and began to arrange each section in order by size, and then of his own personal preference. It might not be the best business strategy, but Cas hadn’t seemed to mind when Dean began to tidy his room, so maybe he wouldn’t mind this?

He was organizing the fruit paintings, and _seriously_ , who needed a still life of fruit for their dining room? When he heard a small sound behind him. Cas stood behind him, and Dean felt the flush creeping back up his cheeks. “Uh… If you don’t like it, I can change it back,” he offered.

Cas shook his head. “Change it? Why would you change it?” He gestured at the carefully organized paintings, clearly delineated in themes in a way they hadn’t been before. “Thank you, Dean,” he said earnestly. “You have quite a gift for that; it looks wonderful. I have never had the touch you clearly do for organization.”

Dean ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Uhm. Thanks.” He smiled, the sting of earlier fading under Cas’ effluent praise. “So, uh, these are all set up. D’ you wanna do that caricature now? For the advertisement?” He could see the big poster Cas had set up with sample caricatures, but there were a few open spots. Clearly Cas had been adding to the display as he went along.

“That can wait a few minutes,” he said, shaking his head. “Why don’t we eat our breakfast before it gets any colder? I can do your drawing in a moment.” He motioned Dean over to the chairs set up next to their table, where he’d placed their burritos, and they headed over to sit.

Luckily, they weren’t more than slightly chilled, and the two men took seats next to one another on the chairs. Dean smiled as Cas unwrapped his and took a big bite. “This is delicious, Dean,” he said, after he’d swallowed. “Sometime you will have to teach me to cook; I’m useless in the kitchen.”

“Sure,” Dean said, a small smile on his lips. “Sounds good.” They ate mostly in silence, watching the other crafters filter in and set everything up. Occasionally Cas would wave to someone he knew, or introduce Dean to someone, but mostly things were quiet. By the time they’d finished, the main doors were about ready to open, so Cas gestured to his things.

“We can do the drawing after people start coming in. That way it looks like I’ve got a customer.” He grinned. “I must admit I am looking forward to drawing you. Do you think…” He trailed off. “Do you think you would ever be willing to sit for me, in a more formal situation? I would love to paint you.”

Dean blushed more deeply. “I never really thought about it. But, uh, sure.” He took their garbage. “I’ll be right back.” He escaped over to the garbage can, dropping their tinfoil in and taking a moment to let the blush fade. It was still so weird to have Cas ask things like that. He knew he was attractive. People told Pretty that on a regular basis. But this… Casual affirmation was so strange.

He returned to find Cas setting out a cash box behind the table. “If you wouldn’t mind? Of course you can go to walk around if you like, but when you’re here, would you like to man the cash box?”

“Oh, sure, man.” People started to filter in, and Dean amused himself just watching the soccer moms and grandmas walking around and touching necklaces, scarves, wooden boxes and all the other things that were there. 

Cas waited until there were a decent number of people before nodding to his stool in front of the easel. Dean sat obediently. “So, do I need to sit any way specific, or…”

“No, any way you are comfortable is fine. Just try not to move.” He popped the top off of a sharpie and Dean settled on the stool a little more comfortably. Cas quickly began to sketch an outline, and in a few minutes, he pulled out a brown marker to highlight Dean’s hair. Green joined the brown while he worked on Dean’s eyes, and a bright blue for his shirt. “Done.” Cas capped the last marker and smiled, taking the picture off.

Dean stood up and stood next to Cas. “Uhm.. Wow…” The guy in the picture, he thought privately, didn’t look like him. And not just because the head was really big. But the smile was bright, the eyes were _so_ green, and Cas definitely hadn’t skimped on the freckles. Somehow, though, he didn’t come off geeky, because the smile was strong enough to hide the freckles Dean hated.

“Do you like it?” Cas smiled, turning to pin the picture up to his sign. 

“It’s very… different,” Dean said with a laugh. “But it’s good! I can see the… skill.” He shrugged, then smiled. “I hope it draws people over.”

“I think it will,” Cas agreed. He settled back down in his chair, watching as the customers filtered in. A few pairs of teenage girls came and paid Cas five dollars each for their picture being drawn. Dean watched with unabashed appreciation as Cas posed them, complimenting each patron effortlessly to draw smiles that were translated into the drawings. He even added a couple spots of color free of charge to the one for the little girl who was getting the drawing for her mother for Christmas. How could he get any more _perfect_ than he was?

Dean worked the cash box for a while, mostly just pleased to get to watch Cas work. It was surprisingly soothing. Between customers they would chat quietly, and Dean found himself on the receiving end of a lecture about different types of acrylic paints and why each brand worked best under different circumstances. While he couldn’t say it was _fascinating_ , exactly, it _did_ make Cas’ eyes light up, and that was worth it. 

A little before lunch, he nodded at the food booths. “I’m gonna go scope out the food. You want anything in particular?”

“Oh, no, thank you Dean. Whatever you get would be fine. Something hot to drink might be nice? The cold air from the door is making my hands cramp.”

Dean frowned, coming a little closer to Cas and reaching to take his dom’s hands in his own. “Geeze, Cas! Your hands are like ice!” He began to rub them briskly, drawing a husky chuckle from Castiel.

“Mm. That feels good. Thank you, Dean.” He let Dean rub for a few more moments until another pair of girls headed over. “Why don’t you go look at food while I’m occupied with them,” he suggested, and Dean let go with a nod.

“Yeah. Alright, something hot to drink coming up.”

“That’s fine. Thank you, Dean. And feel free to wander a little before you come back, if you like. I know there are some interesting things here. Don’t feel you have to be chained to me.”

Dean nodded, since he’d already seen some tabless he might like to check out. “Ok. I won’t be too long.” He headed off, making a circuit of the room to see what other wares were there. He saw a couple places he’d like to check out later; a jewelry table that might have something for Jess and Mary, a set of hand bound notebooks that Sam might like, and a hilarious sign for Mal that said “Beware the Boss Man”. It had a pirate skull in the center, but instead of crossbones underneath, it had crossed wrenches. Dean stopped and bought that before he went to get their lunch, because it was the last one and he hadn’t wanted it to sell out.

It took a little juggling at the food booth, but he ended up with two pieces of pie, two pieces of pepperoni pizza, and two large cups of hot chocolate. The coffee had just looked sad, and Dean refused to spend money on coffee that wasn’t even going to taste like coffee.

When he made it back to Cas, his dom was just finishing a drawing for an older couple, who also had two of his paintings at their feet. He hung at the edge of the table until they finished, and Cas came over to relieve him of some of his burden. 

“My goodness, Dean! Didn’t they have any trays?”

Dean shrugged as he set down Mal’s gift under the edge of the table and sat down next to his dom. “I didn’t ask? It all kinda stacked, y’know? I hope pizza’s ok. There weren’t a lot of options.”

“It’s fine. Thank you for lunch,” Cas said, peeling back the foil so he could start to eat. The dom ate quickly, not wanting to have to put it down if another customer came. 

Dean set his down when a young couple wandered over and started looking at the paintings. Pretty was good at this, and it felt good to serve by letting Cas eat while he handled the customers. He wasn’t really keen to inspect that urge too deeply, but for the moment it was enough to just do it.

“Hi!” He said brightly, channeling the annoyingly chipper mannerisms that got Pretty as many tips as he did at the bar. “How are you folks today? Can I help you find anything?”

The girl, Dean noted with relief that she was a sub, looked up and shook her head. “No, I don’t think so… These are really well organized. I’m just debating whether my mom would like the pineapple still life or the rose bouquet better.” She was a bubble-gum pop kind of girl, with her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail topped with a bright pink bow. Dean thought she kind of looked like every cheerleader he’d known in high school.

Dean chuckled. “Not sure I can help with that, you’re right. They’re both really great. If you want some help getting one down, just let me know… And if you’re wanting a caricature, Cas will be done in just a couple more minutes.”

The guy looked up from where he’d been idly looking at some of the paintings. “Cas?” The smile that split his lips made Dean uneasy, something deep in his gut warning him. He pushed it off, because strange doms _always_ made him uneasy. “As in Castiel Novak? Oh, I haven’t had a caricature done in a long time… I think I’ll stick around.” If she was the cheerleader, the guy was _definitely_ the football playing jock. Even now, clearly Cas’ age, he carried himself like he expected the hallways to clear for him. Damn; his hair was even slicked back with too much gel, like some kind of cartoon character. It was ridiculous.

Dean forced Pretty to stay at the surface. “Awesome! Well the base price is five bucks a face, six for color highlights, and seven for full color. They’re really good for framing.”

Cas finished his pizza and stood. “Brendan. It’s good to see you.” His smile seemed just a little forced, but Dean knew that sometimes it sucked to talk to customers, so he didn’t think it meant too much.

The other dom, Brendan, apparently, nodded. “Yeah… Wow. Never thought I’d see you someplace like _this_. Daddy not helping you out here at school, huh?”

“I prefer to make my own way,” Cas replied stiffly. Dean felt himself frowning, though he tried to smooth his face. Who the hell was this guy, coming up and insinuating that Cas wasn’t good enough because he was selling paintings at a craft show? It was way better, in Dean’s opinion, to be making his own money rather than waiting on his dad.

“Yeah, well. Not what I would have bet on in high school from the high flying Novak boys.” Brendan shook his head, and settled on the stool. “Hey, Beck, come over here for a minute. Cas is gonna draw us.” He grinned as his sub came and settled on his knee. “Full color,” he demanded, settling in as Cas pulled out his markers. 

Cas didn’t speak, just set to doing the drawing as quickly as possible. “There you go,” he said as he pulled the picture off the pad and offered it over. “You can pay Dean. Thanks for stopping by.”

Brendan took the picture, glancing at it, as Becky clapped her hands once. “Ooh, Bren, that’s so cute! I love it!” She leaned up and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Just let me grab that pineapple painting for mom.”

“Sure thing, babe,” he said agreeably, wrapping an arm around her waist while they headed to the far end of the table.

 

“Is this the one?” Dean stepped over, pointing at one picture and pulling it off the display when Becky nodded. 

“Yes, thanks. It’s twenty for the painting, right?”

“Yeah, twenty for the painting and fourteen for the caricature, so thirty four even.”

“What?” Brendan’s eyes widened. “Fourteen for a fuckin’ sketch? You said seven!”

Dean narrowed his gaze, drawing on every ounce of Pretty to keep him from cowering at the face of the dom’s anger. “The total is fourteen; I said seven dollars a face for full color. There are two faces in the sketch, so fourteen.”

“That’s bullshit,” Brendan said just as angrily. He turned toward Cas, meeting his eyes squarely. “C’mon, man… You know you’re bein’ ridiculous. Seven is a _totally_ fair price. I mean, it took like, five minutes!”

 

Before Cas could answer, _Oh, Hell, no_ screamed through Dean’s head, but he kept his voice even by the skin of his teeth. “ _This_ is a custom piece of art, that took years of training to be able to do. You _knew_ the price before you sat for it. So,” Dean stretched his best Pretty smile across his lips, “that’ll be fourteen for it and twenty for the painting.”

“Excuse me, _bitch_ , the _doms_ are talking.” Brendan’s voice was dangerous, and Dean swallowed as he remembered Kale’s voice taking on that very same tone. Still, he wasn’t a kid anymore, and this was for Cas. Pretty could handle a jerk like this.

Dean’s brows rose gently, “And, I’m manning the cashbox. That means you’re dealing with me.” He steeled himself for more abuse, and wasn’t surprised when he got it.

“You better shut your mouth, bitch,” the dom’s voice rose another decibel or two as he loomed over Dean, “I bet you just need taking down. Is that what you want? Want me to bend you over and teach you some manners?”

“MY manners are fine,” Dean stood taller and was determined to show that he wasn’t intimidated, “I don't try to get out of paying for things." He leaned over the table toward the dom, "and I deal with jerks like you all the time. Touch me and you'll regret it," Dean backed off, "I’m not afraid of you. And you owe Cas thirty-four dollars!”

“Dude, Cas,” the dom turned away from Dean, “control your bitch, man. I mean, hey, you can be as lenient as you want at home but this is ridiculous.”

“Hey, asshole!” Dean rapped on the table, “I’m right here, and you know the price. You damn well pay for the custom artwork he just made for you, before I get some security over here.”

Becky, who had been silent thus far, stepped a little closer, wrapping her hands around Brendan’s arm and tugging it down into her embrace. Dean relaxed marginally when he saw her holding back the fist Brendan had been gesturing with. “Baby, just pay for it. I heard him, he said seven bucks a head. And I really like it. So let’s just pay for it and go, okay?”

For a second, Dean held his breath. He wasn’t sure it was going to work. But then Brendan pulled his wallet out, eyes narrowed, and pulled out thirty five bucks that he threw at Dean. 

Dean let out his breath in a low, slow exhale before forcing Pretty’s smile back to his lips. “Now that wasn’t so hard was it,” he took the bills from the table as he drew a single from the cash box, “and here’s your change.” The guy snatched it from Dean’s hand. Dean ignored him and turned to the young woman, “Would you like me to wrap the painting?”

 

The younger sub shook her head, picking up the painting and the picture before smiling thinly at Cas. “Thank you for the picture. Happy holidays.” She took her dom by the hand and tugged gently, and a moment later they were headed out the doors, away from the table.

Dean waited until he saw them exit from the building before he sagged. He was trembling, the aftermath of the adrenaline coursing through his system, and Cas looked over at him. “Dean…” He began, tentative, like he was afraid Dean might break if he spoke too sharply. “That was…”

“Fuck,” Dean muttered. They were getting stares from people at the tables all around them, and Dean ducked his head, dropping to sit in the chair behind the table. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know. I should have let you handle it. I know you could handle it. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insinuate that…”

Cas cut him off with a hand on his arm. “Dean, that was _amazing,_ ” he said firmly. Dean looked him up and down, searching for a lie, or an indicator that Cas was just trying to make him feel better. He didn’t see any. “You handled him _much_ better than I would have… Albeit, a bit more harshly, perhaps. But it got the job done, and it got rid of him. I never could stand him, even in school.”

Dean huffed out a weak laugh. “Yeah, well. I’m… I know you could have handled him yourself. It just made me so _mad_. I mean, does he go into walmart and try to talk them out of charging him for something?” He huffed out an annoyed breath. “Actually? Probably. He seemed like the kind of asshole to try and haggle at Walmart.” He looked at Cas, and scrubbed roughly at his face with one hand. “Can I… walk around? I think I need to let off some steam, and uh, I don’t wanna snap at anyone else who comes over to buy something.”

 

Cas smiled. “Of course, Dean. And I mean it. You did a good job.” 

Dean blushed. “Yeah. Thanks.” He agreed, just to get Cas off his back. He didn’t think so, but then, what did he know? John sure as hell wouldn’t have wanted a sub assuming he couldn’t handle himself and jumping in like that. Cas didn’t seem to mind, though, and that was… nice. But what if he _did_ mind, and he just wasn’t showing it in public? That made a lot more sense. A knot of fear settled in Dean’s gut; he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what the private fallout would be for this very public faux pas.

“I’ll be back in a couple minutes. I just need to clear my head.” 

“That’s fine. I’ll be able to manage until you get back.” 

Dean took his time wandering the stalls, talking to people here and there. He picked out a bracelet each for Mary and Jess, and bought the journal set for Sam. He really wanted to get something for Cas, but he was at a loss. What was okay to give? He didn’t know, though it seemed like Cas was okay with whatever Dean wanted to do. That was Cas; Dean still didn’t think he knew his footing with him, exactly. Maybe he should stick to something simple, inexpensive. He didn’t want to seem cheap, though, and he didn’t want something generic. Cas was his _soulmate_ , he wanted it to _mean_ something.

Inspiration struck when he happened past a table selling hand tooled silver jewelry. Dean stopped, gently touching a necklace made of sterling silver; a pair of angel wings hung from the center of the chain. It was perfect; sterling silver was the best broad spectrum anti-supernatural mineral except iron and salt. He bought it without hesitation, then tucked it in his pocket. Part of him wanted to give it to him now, immediately, especially given his behavior earlier. Better to impress him now and maybe get a little mercy. The logical part of him reminded himself that Cas had avoided supernatural stuff until now, he’d probably be okay a few more weeks until Christmas. And anyway, buying his way out of punishments never worked with John or Kale, why would it work with Cas?

He steeled himself, reminding himself firmly that he deserved whatever Cas decided was appropriate, and headed back toward their table. He was feeling a lot calmer, especially now that he could put his hand on his pocket and feel the necklace for Cas. As he wandered back to the table, Cas squeezed his shoulder. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah, I am,” he agreed. It was a near thing, but he _did_ trust Cas, and Cas had promised never to hurt him. Even if a small, treacherous part of him just whispered that meant that his punishments would be a lot more creative, Dean couldn’t let himself worry too much. “Are you?”

“Yes, I am. I _do_ need to go to the bathroom, however, so if you don’t mind, I think I will step away for a few minutes?”

Dean laughed, nodding. “Yeah, okay. I’ll let people know the artist will be right back.”

Cas leaned over to put a quick peck on Dean’s cheek. “Thank you, Dean,” he said earnestly before hurrying away. Dean lounged back in the chair while he watched him go, and tried to look open and friendly when the people wandered by.

Cas was gone a little longer than Dean expected; Dean sold two more paintings and had nearly finished selling a third when Cas reappeared, carrying a big bag. He thanked the woman buying the painting; it was the one of the car, and Dean was almost sad to see it go.

“What’s in there?” Dean asked after she left. Cas tucked the bag under the table, grinning. “Your Christmas present; well… Probably _one_ of your gifts. So no peeking.”

Dean laughed, though curiosity waged. “If you say so,” he agreed, though he couldn’t help sneaking a peek at the bag under the table.

They chatted for the rest of the day, and thankfully it was a quiet afternoon after that. After the last patron left, when they’d packed up the remaining paintings and gotten everything squared away, Dean settled in the passenger seat again. “Come to my place? I’ll make pasta.” He didn’t even try to hide the hopeful sound of his voice. A part of him, small though it was, still wanted the reassurance Cas provided. More than that, he wanted to get whatever the fallout would be from his blow out over with quickly, so it wasn’t hanging over his head.

Cas’ smile was almost enough to make him believe that there wouldn’t be any fallout. “Of course, Dean. That sounds wonderful.”


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Happy early Christmas! :)
> 
> As you all may or may not know, today makes the ONE YEAR anniversary of Roots and Wings! I can't even believe it!
> 
> So, in honor of the day, here is a quick little vignette/time stamp for Dean and Mal. I wrote it for the last chapter but it just didn't fit right, so here it is by itself. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Dare

_February, 1997_

Dean shivered outside the grocery store. His coat was in decent shape but his jeans were holey and his money had to go for _food_ and not for jeans. Even if it was one of the coldest winters California had had for a while, temperatures dipping into the thirties and not up in the forties where they usually were.

The reason Dean stood outside freezing his ass off instead of going in and grocery shopping, was because he wanted to check to see if anyone had ripped off his number from the ad he’d put there. He knew he needed a job, and fast. The money John had given him would last a couple weeks, if he was frugal, but this was a sorta touristy area and prices definitely weren’t low. Add on to that actually having to pay utilities and shit, and Dean wasn’t sure how long he’d last without a steady source of income.

A few strips were gone from the paper he’d pinned up at the beginning of the week, that was reassuring even if he hadn’t gotten any calls yet. The ad read ‘Dean Winchester: Handyman, jack of all trades. Minor car repairs, home repairs, yard maintenance. Reasonable prices. Call 650-444-4444.” The tear off strips on the bottom had his name and number one them, and three were missing. That was good.

He turned to head inside and nearly bumped into a man nearly three inches taller than Dean, which was no mean feat. He was burly and imposing, with bright red hair. Maybe five or six years older than Dean, he wore a marriage cuff on his right wrist, that read _Sue Burman_ in a neat cursive print on the outside of the band. Dean met his eyes, swallowing. “Uh, sorry,’ he said, scurrying backwards to let the guy get up to the board.

“You’re alright, kid,” the man said, patting Dean’s shoulder as he passed him. He pulled a few tacks from the corner of the bulletin board and pushed up an ad right near Dean’s. It read ‘Mechanic wanted: Now hiring. Looking for new mechanic, willing to learn. Good team dynamics required; no experience necessary, will teach on the job. Call Malcolm Burman at 650-444-5555. Serious inquiries only.”

Dean read the ad over the man’s shoulder, and glanced at the ad. It was so similar to his own phone number, Dean would bet that they were close, which was perfect, given that he didn’t own a car. He screwed up his courage; how could there be a better time than now? “Uh… Hey. Are you Mr. Burman?”

The man stepped back, and glanced at Dean. “Yeah, I am,’ he said, clearly sizing Dean up. “And you are?”

“Dean, sir. Dean Winchester.” Dean bit his lip, then forced himself to release it. “I’m looking for a job, and you’re looking for a mechanic. Are… I would love to set up an interview.”

 

 

Mal’s eyes narrowed. “How old are you, kid? I can’t hire someone still in highschool; I need too many hours.”

“I’m eighteen,” Dean said, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “I just moved here, and I need a job. I’ve got some experience; my uncle Bobby runs a scrap yard repair shop, and my dad’s worked in some garages my whole life. I’ve helped them both out on vacations and stuff.”

Malcolm looked him up and down again, then reached into his pocket for a card. “Alright, Dean Winchester. Come in on Monday morning at eight for a real interview. I’m not promising anything, but I _do_ need a mechanic, so if you’re willing to work then this might just work out.”

Dean felt elation swirl up in him, though he tamped it down to a reasonable level. After all, he didn’t _have_ the job yet. “Yessir. Thank you sir.” He pocketed the card. “I’ll be there, eight o’clock sharp.”

“Sounds good, Dean.” He held out a calloused hand, and Dean pulled his hand free from his pocket to shake. He saw Mal look at his cuff, and wished he could hide it. The other man’s sub status notwithstanding, Dean knew there weren’t many subs who worked rough and tumble jobs like construction or car repair; they were much more likely to be found as nurses, or receptionists. At least in Dean’s experience.

They parted ways, then, and Dean ducked into the store to do his shopping. Peanut butter, bread, a dozen eggs, things that would last a little while. He needed to stretch his dollar as far as possible, after all.

By the time he left the store, it was getting dark and so even colder than before. Dean shivered, glad he had a backpack to tote his stuff with so he could keep his hands in his pockets.For a fleeting minute, he wished he could just drive home, but that was not to be. In his last phone call, John had forbidden Dean from getting a car.

 _”I don’t want you getting any hare-brained ideas, boy, like trying to find me. I put you where I put you for a reason, and don’t you forget it. Anyway, car insurance and gas would eat you out of house and home! I might need that money, so you damn well better make sure it’s accessible, you hear?”_ The conversation had been heartbreaking for Dean. He’d dreamed for years of having a car, working with John and being his Right Hand; that conversation had just reminded him how very little he was going to be able to do that.

He stepped into the house after what still felt like way too long of a walk, shivering. Cold as it was outside, it was still warm enough that Dean couldn’t bring himself to turn on the heat. He didn’t want to run out of money because he couldn’t pay the damn gas bill.

He unpacked the groceries and put them away, then put on some coffee and a can of soup for dinner. He could at least eat something hot. His mind kept wandering back to mister Burman. Would the man hire him? It would be great to get out of the house every day, instead of sitting and staring at the couple books of lore Bobby had sent him. He’d love to start his own collection, to feel like he was _doing _something, but that pesky ‘no income’ thing got in the way of that, too.__

__He put the heavy thoughts away as the coffee maker beeped, and went to the kitchen to eat. His eyes caught on his cuff, and he cursed it again. Sometimes he hated _Castiel Novak_ , whoever the hell he was. Hated that he wanted to dominate Dean, that his very _presence_ in the world made John abandon him in fucking Stanford, California. He hated that it was just the name on his wrist made John leave him, change his whole world. If it wasn’t for fucking Castiel Novak, Dean wouldn’t even _be here_._ _

__And he hated that there was a part of him that was so desperately _lonely_ that he wanted him anyway, wanted to sit with him in the evenings, wanted to watch bad TV, _wanted_ to have someone to come home to. A small, tiny part of himself that he didn’t really even admit to, wanted to hear ‘you’ve done a good job, Dean’, and he didn’t like to examine why that felt like a betrayal. He knew that ever since his body, his _fucking soul_ betrayed him, he wouldn’t hear that from John again. He wasn’t what John Winchester wanted in a son, and he never would be again._ _

__His hands shaking, more from suppressed frustration than anything else, Dean poured his soup into one mug and his coffee into another. He carried them both into the living room to sit on the couch, trying to turn his mind to happier things. It was easy to find his current favorite Vonnegut novel where he’d left it on the arm of the couch, and Dean sat back to read while he drank his soup and his coffee._ _

__Monday couldn’t come soon enough. Dean passed the weekend with some repairs the house needed, winter proofing things so that he would decrease his heating bills as much as possible. He’d been able to scrounge some things from local business dumpsters, and the hardware store had some odds and ends on clearance that had been a bitch to get back to the house without a car but were well worth it in the end._ _

__He’d managed to add some more insulation under the roof and caulk around all the windows, so hopefully the house wouldn’t be freezing. Thank God John decided to dump him in California, and not like, Wisconsin or something. He’d spent enough South Dakota winters with uncle Bobby to know he’d never have survived walking to and from work without a car._ _

__First thing Monday Dean showered, brushing his hair into a semi-respectable look before putting on his neatest pair of jeans and his least torn up flannel over a plain blue shirt. “Damn, Winchester,” he said to himself in the mirror, pulling a face. “Can you look any _more_ like a high school dropout?”_ _

__He shook his head and then headed out the door. He didn’t have time to worry about that; he needed to get to the garage. He’d scoped the place out over the weekend when he’d been making his hardware store runs, and knew it would take him about fifteen minutes to walk there._ _

__The walk didn’t take that long. Dean had barely been able to restrain himself from running, and as a result he was at the shop at about ten minutes to eight. A single car was in the parking lot, probably Mr. Burman. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door._ _

__“Good morning,” he said shyly when the other sub came to the door a few minutes later. “I know I’m early, I hope that’s okay?”_ _

__Mr. Burman nodded, holding out his hand for Dean to shake. “That’s fine. It’s good to see a young man so eager to make a good impression. Come on in, Dean, wasn’t it?”_ _

__“Yessir,’ Dean said, taking the mechanic’s hand and following him into the store. They crossed through the lobby to the back office, and Dean sat tentatively in the chair that Burman indicated. He held himself stiffly, unsure of his welcome. He fought not to stare at his hands, not wanting to appear weak. He needed this job, and Mr. Burman wasn’t gonna hire a no-good high school drop out._ _

__“So, Dean… Talk to me.” Mr. Burman sat opposite him, across the desk. “You said at the store that you know your way around a car. What kind of experience do you have?”_ _

__That was a question Dean was ready for, thank goodness. He might have spent the weekend wracking his brain for things the man might ask, not that he’d admit it. “Well, my uncle Bobby has a scrap yard auto shop. I used to spend the summers with him; we did a lot of classic cars, starting when I was like, twelve. He’s had a lot of local work, mostly cannibalizing scrap cars to get the pieces. I did some basic repairs, too. Oil changes, brake lines, that kind of thing. Whatever people needed, we did.”_ _

__He stopped talking, though there was probably more he could say about what he’d done. But he felt like he was babbling; if Mr. Burman wanted to know more, he’d say so._ _

__“Well, that sounds like a good foundation. You said you’re eighteen?” The redhead was watching Dean assessingly. “I have to admit I’m a little nervous about hiring a teenager; it sounds like you have some experience, but I need to know that you’ll be able to jump in with the guys. I don’t mind doing some training, of course, but the basics are kind of essential. What do you know about some things besides oil and changing flats? Tell me about what you do for tire rotation.”_ _

__“Front wheel, all wheel or rear wheel?” Dean smiled a little bit. He might not be at his best with people, but he knew he could manage with cars. “The all wheel drive is an x-pattern, front wheel drive is a diagonal swap of rear wheel to the front with the front moving straight back, and rear wheel drive is a reverse of that. You really have to be careful with rear wheel drive that the tires are the same size though. You don’t wanna swap out the tires if the front and rear tires are different.”_ _

__The mechanic nodded slowly. “Well that sounds like you know your stuff there.” He leaned back in his chair. “Alright, Dean, I’m going to be straight with you. I don’t know how I feel about hiring a teenager… I know, you’re eighteen, but there’s still a gap between you and my other guys. Are you going to the college? Living with your parents?”_ _

__Dean flushed. “No sir. My father’s a travelling PI. I’m… Home base. I’ve got a house on Third Mile road and I’m just looking for a job to pay the bills. I like cars, and I think I’d like learning more about them. I’m a hard worker, punctual, and a team player, like your ad was looking for.”_ _

__He met the older man’s eyes evenly, a light flush spreading over his cheeks. He didn’t want to beg, but he _needed_ this job in the worst way. He didn’t want to go be a clerk at a grocery store or something; that kind of job required way too much contact with _people_. This… This he could do._ _

__“Well, Dean, I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you a ninety day probationary period. At the end of ninety days, if you’re still working out, we’ll make it permanent. In the mean time, we’ll do some training, get your hands dirty a little bit. How’s that sound?”_ _

__Dean tamped down on his excitement. There would be time for celebration later. He nodded, standing and offering Mr. Burman his hand. “That sounds perfect, sir. Thank you… When can I start?”_ _

__“Call me Mal, Dean. If we’re going to be working together, we can get a little less formal. And how about right now? If you don’t have other plans. I’m sure we can find some coveralls to fit you; I’d like to see how you handle yourself in a real car.”_ _

__Dean’s smile got a little bigger. “Yessir… I mean… Mal. That’s great. I’d love to.”_ _

__Mal pushed up from the desk, taking Dean’s hand then nodding toward the locker room. “Alright, Dean. Let’s go.” He smiled warmly, leading the way so he could find Dean some coveralls to wear. “Show me what you can do.”_ _


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm so sorry I've been absent. This chapter REALLY kicked my ass. It was brutal to get out; Dean really didn't know how to feel about all of this. It was pretty rough for him. SO yeah. Here's that.
> 
> Thanks again to Lisa for helping me tighten it all up. This wouldn't be posted without her! Also, thanks to Lisa for the wonderful banner that she made for us! It's awesome!
> 
> Thank you all for waiting for me. I know this took like a week longer than I wanted.
> 
> Thanks for all your comments, they really helped keep me motivated!
> 
> Here's the chapter you've all been waiting for!
> 
> Dare

Their ride home was quiet. Initially Cas thought Dean was simply tired, but a glance at his sub showed him hunched against the passenger window. The classic rock station played softly in the background, but Dean didn’t sing along. Not even when _Eye of the Tiger_ came on.

“The show went well,” Cas said finally, breaking the silence. “I think I sold more paintings than I have in a while… Likely because you managed to put them in an order people could actually navigate.” He smiled. “Thank you for your help.”

Dean managed a weak smile in return. “I’m glad it was good,” he said, shrugging. His lack of engagement set off alarm bells in Cas’ head. Even though Dean didn’t usually talk much, he generally _participated_ , at the very least.

As they pulled up to the house, they took their time getting out of the the car. Dean swallowed hard. They weren’t in public anymore, it was only a matter of time until the other shoe fell. His feet dragged across the gravel drive, and he couldn’t help shooting glances at Cas as they crossed the small yard. Only a matter of time. He felt his hand shake as they made it to the porch and he unlocked the door.

It felt like Cas’ eyes were burning through his back as they walked into the house. He flicked the light on quickly, then immediately started to take off his boots. “I’ll just get dinner started,” he said, glancing quickly at Cas. “You can hang out in the living room, or… Whatever.”

His nervous motions were putting Cas on edge. What was going on with his Dean? “I would rather come with you.” He toed off his tennis shoes and followed Dean to the kitchen. “I”m hopeless in the kitchen, but you can teach me.”

“Uh… Okay. Sure. If you wanted, you could get the green peppers and carrots out of the fridge?”  
He phrased it as a question as they went into the kitchen, but Cas headed for the fridge without further suggestion. He took the time while rinsing his vegetables to observe Dean. His sub seemed to be growing _more_ tense, instead of less, his usual skill in the kitchen seeming scattered, distracted.

“I hope I prove to be an apt student,” Cas said teasingly, to try to break the ice. His sub was tense as a guitar string, and he wanted to help him relax. “Maybe after I learn this I can live off of more than poptarts.”

Dean huffed out a laugh, even though he didn’t seem to loosen up. “Well yeah dude. I mean, poptarts are barely _food_.” Dean was joking, setting up the pan on the stove, but his movements were jerky and rough. He swore when, a moment later, he burned his finger on the stove.

“Dean! Are you alright?” Cas’ concern seemed to worry Dean more, and he hunched his shoulders even further.

“Yeah, I’m fine Cas…” He ran his hand under cool water. “I’m just a dumbass, that’s all. I can finish, it’s okay.”

“Dean.” Cas frowned, and shook his head. “You are not a _dumbass_. It was an accident. But… Sit down.” Cas kept his voice mild, but wasn’t surprised by Dean’s frown. Maybe if he could get Dean to stop moving, he could get to the bottom of this. “How can I learn if you do all the work? Sit, relax, and talk me through this.”

Dean blinked, but nodded. “Uh, if that’s what you want.” He said. He sat obediently in a chair, then nodded to the cutting board he’d set out.

Cas took the hint and started chopping the vegetables. “Dean…” He shot a look at his sub out of the corner of his eye. Dean still looked stressed, his shoulders hunched and idly picking at the hem of his shirt. It was a wonder that all his shirts didn’t have the hems falling apart. “What’s wrong? You have been very quiet since we left the show.”

“What? It’s nothing.”

“It’s not _nothing_ when you’re hurting, Dean, and I can see that you are. I thought we were having a nice day, but something changed. You’re so tense… What’s wrong?” Cas put the vegetables in the pot, then wiped his hands on his pants as he turned to look at Dean.

“I just… I was hoping we could get the punishment out of the way,” Dean admitted. His stomach twisted. How sick was he, pushing for a punishment like this? Selfish bastard. Maybe Cas wanted to wait until after dinner? 

“Punishment?” Cas was aghast. “Dean, you didn’t do _anything_ worthy of a punishment.” Punishing Dean for anything in this situation seemed completely wrong, but his sub looked so miserable. He didn’t know what to do. “What are you talking about?”

“I shouldn’t have stepped on your authority, sir,” he said, the term escaping his mouth before he could stop it.. “I was so out of line.” Dean squared his shoulders as he faced Cas, “I mean, I practically shouted at that douche when he didn’t wanna pay. Shoulda let you handle it. Look,” Dean sagged as he saw Cas’ confused disinterest, “just… we can drop it, okay?” The punishment would come when it did, he didn’t want to make it worse. “It’s not the sub’s place to decide when or where he’s punished,” he mumbled, parroting John’s voice in his head as he put the pot on the stove.

“What did you say?” Cas didn’t quite catch the mumbling, but the term ‘sir’ made him want to squirm. Dean always sounded so uncomfortable with that term. He waited a moment, but when he saw the blush on Dean’s face, and his sub didn’t respond, he continued. “I don’t remember any time that you stepped on my authority or were out of line,” Cas said with a frown. “You were manning the cash box, and you knew the prices. You were well within your rights to demand a full payment.” He looked closely at Dean, “Is that what this is about?”

Dean nodded, miserable. “Yeah, you’re right.” He didn’t sound like he believed it at all. “It’s not really my… place, or whatever, though.”

“It _was_ your place, though, Dean. What would you do at the garage if someone didn’t want to pay? It was your job, entirely.” Cas stepped a little closer, concerned about Dean. “I heard you mumble something, but I didn’t catch it.”

Dean flushed. He didn’t want to admit that when that happened at the garage he pushed a little, then got Mal to handle it. “I don’t wanna push you,” he said instead. “It’s not my place to decide when I get punished. I don’t wanna ruin your appetite. I’m sorry.” He bit his lip, then looked up, changing the subject. “Uh, you probably wanna stir those veggies before they burn. Do you want my help?”

“Oh! I’ll get them.” Cas turned quickly back to the stove, stirring to save the vegetables. “No, thank you. Just tell me what I need to do next. I want to learn.” He frowned at the pot, recognizing his sub trying to put space between himself and an uncomfortable topic. He knew he couldn’t give Dean too much space, but maybe a minute to regain his equilibrium.

For the next few minutes Dean gave directions in chopping, browning and stirring, telling Cas when to open cans and what went in when. Cas followed orders without complaint, and in just a few minutes the the sauce was bubbling merrily on the stove.

“It has to simmer for a while,” Dean said as Cas set the spoon down. Dean stood up and went to the counter, starting to wipe it down. Cas almost stopped him, but saw that the miserable set to his shoulders was back full force. Instead, Cas helped in silence, cleaning the kitchen until there was nothing left to do. He didn’t let Dean linger then, and took his elbow.

“Let’s go sit,” he urged, and Dean followed him back to the table. Once he had Dean situated, instead of sitting Cas began to rub Dean’s shoulders. “You’re so tense, Dean.”

Cas sounded distressed, and Dean frowned. “Sorry,’ he mumbled, turning his head a little to get a stretch under Cas’ hands.

Cas pressed at a knot with his thumb. “There's nothing for you to be sorry for. I just want to try to help you to relax. We had such a nice day, and you did so well. I’m trying to understand why you’re upset, so I can help.”

Dean pulled away, shrugging Cas’ hands off. “Shouldn’t I be giving you one of those?” He asked, still plucking at the hem of his shirt. “You were the one working all day.”

Cas frowned and leaned on the edge of the table. _“We_ worked all day, Dean. In fact, if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say you worked more than I did. You carried the boxes, did setup and teardown, and managed the cash box! I know I certainly did more business today with you than I have at any of my last three shows.”

“Look, Cas,” Dean said with his eyes firmly aimed at his feet. “You’re bein’ real nice and all, but, really, I _know_ I was outta line there, you don’t gotta sugarcoat it for me.” Dean worried his lip for a moment, “I know what I deserve.”

“I don’t think so, Dean.” Cas spoke matter-of-factually. He’d do what Dean needed, but he certainly was not doling out punishment without first understanding _why_ Dean felt like he needed it, and not without proper precautions in place.

Dean heard a rushing in his ears, felt his heart rate skyrocket. There it was, like he’d suspected. “Please, Cas,” he said mortified by the weakness in his voice even as he knew he had to say it. It was hard to breathe, but he forced himself to keep going so he could talk. “I promise, I’ll be good, sir”. Cas was going to leave, because Dean wasn’t even worth the effort of correcting, just like John said. “I’ll be worth it, I’ll take it, whatever you want to do. Help me be better sir, please?”

“Dean, what are you talking about?” Cas frowned, reaching for Dean’s hand, but it was like Dean wasn’t even hearing him. His breathing grew more rapid and his skin looked clammy. “Dean… Pretty!” Cas knelt beside his chair, pulling Dean down onto the floor into his arms. He didn’t want him to pass out and fall. “Pretty… Breathe for me…” He began to breathe in and out, murmuring soothing nonsense while he did. That was what you were supposed to do for panic attacks, right?

Eventually Dean’s breathing mellowed, and Cas was left with a shaky, sweaty sub in his arms. “Are you back with me, Pretty?” Cas asked gently.

Dean let out a shuddering exhale. Had they been sitting there five minutes? Ten? “I’m okay, Angel,” he said. “I’m sorry.” _God, Dean,_ he thought viciously at himself. _Such a fucking bitch. Can’t even_ get out _of a punishment without fucking up. Of course you’re not worth fixing, worthless whining shit._

Dean looked up, his pupils pinpricks and his hands still trembling. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I am. I’m… I’m sorry. Please, Angel. I need…” Dean slumped against Cas’ chest, and looked up at him tentatively.

Cas couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. His face was a mask of horror. “Dean,” he whispered. He could tell Dean hadn’t known he was speaking aloud. “You’re none of those things.” He stroked Dean’s hair, kissed his forehead. “Shh… I know Dean. I hear you.” His voice was gentle. “If you need it, we can talk about it. Whatever you need, you’ll get. Just breathe for me.”

Cas waited until Dean’s heart rate under his palm settled. “I think we should eat dinner,” Cas said. “It must be time to put the pasta in by now. But we’ll talk about it while we eat, okay? I’ll give you what you need, Dean, but only after we’ve talked.”

Dean nodded slowly, waiting a moment to stand up. Cas stood with him, standing close until Dean was steady. “I’ll put the peas on the stove while I do the pasta,” he said shakily. “Will you… Can you get the frozen garlic bread in the oven?”

“Of course,” Cas agreed. He kept a wary eye on Dean as they did their own tasks. Something was different about Dean now. He was still tense, but was moving with more of his usual grace. When the pasta and vegetables were cooking, Cas leaned on the counter.

“You had me worried, Pretty,” he said. The tiny hint of teasing in his voice was overshadowed by discomfort. “Tell me what that was about?”

“It’s not important,” Dean said shakily.

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Yes it is, Dean,” he said. “You just had a panic attack. A panic attack, Dean. I need you to talk to me. Please.”

Shame flooded Dean again, but he couldn’t ignore the heartfelt request from his dom. “It’s just… It’s like John always said. I’m too screwed up, not worth the effort. If you won’t… Won’t even punish me when I fuck up? What’s the point?”

Cas frowned. “Dean, you most certainly are _not_ any such thing! You are absolutely worth the time to be nurtured in this relationship! I had no idea you were feeling this way; it was certainly not my intention. I… When we had our conversation in the diner, I may have taken away from it that you do not want consequences of any kind, that that wasn’t in your dynamic. But it seems I was incorrect?”

Dean nodded. “I don’t like pain,” he said. “But I need… I need to know that you won’t go easy on me when I fuck up. How can I get better if you don’t punish me?”

His dom sighed softly, but nodded. “That’s something to discuss. Will you get us pen and paper please, Dean?” When Dean looked at him curiously, he smiled. “We have a lot to talk about, and I want to be able to take notes.”

“Uh, sure,” Dean said. He headed out to the living room, coming back a few minutes later with a pen and legal pad. “So what are you taking notes on? Last time I checked you don’t usually pull out a pen every time we have a conversation.”

Cas couldn’t say how relieved he was to hear Dean snarking a little bit. Still, this was a serious conversation, so he only allowed a small quirk of a smile as he nodded. “That’s true. But usually we aren’t discussing a contract. I want for there to be no miscommunications, certainly not if we are initiating the contract specifically so that you can receive correction.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “A contract?” His heartbeat sped up again, though not in panic as much as anticipation. Only Cas had ever suggested he might want a contract with Dean, and Dean wasn’t going to mess that up. “You’d want a contract with me?”

Cas’ smile was gentler now, and he nodded. “Of course I do, Dean. One time or long term, I want whatever I can get. I’ve only been waiting for you to be ready.” The timer went off, and Cas turned to the oven. “I’ll get the table set while you get the rest of the food.”

“That sounds great,” Dean agreed, head still spinning a little. Cas! Wanted a contract with him!

When Dean turned to drain the pasta, he saw Cas had already set the table. Water filled their glasses, instead of beer, but when he glanced at Cas his dom smiled warmly. “I think we should both be sober for our conversation,” he said simply.

Dean nodded and settled down at the table. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he admitted, even though he really wanted the warm rush of a shot of whiskey. Dean busied himself serving Cas’ food, then his own. “Go ahead, sir,” he said as he pushed the plate toward his dom. “I… I can’t.”

He prayed Cas wouldn’t make him ask for it, and saw when Cas realized his discomfort. They’d had this conversation before. Cas didn’t _want_ Dean to wait for him to take the first bite, but right now Dean needed to cling to _some_ kind of structure. Cas took a deliberate bite of his pasta, twirling it on his fork and chewing, followed with a bite of bread, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He could eat now.

“Dean, this is delicious,” Cas said, smiling at him from across the table. Dean forced a smile, trying to sit up a little bit straighter. “Thank you for teaching me.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, stirring the sauce idly on his plate. Cas didn’t press for more conversation, for which Dean was grateful. They ate in silence for a few minutes, and Dean managed half his pasta before he just pushed bits around his plate.

“Do you feel up to continuing our discussion?” Cas waited for Dean’s nod before he continued. “Very well. I am correct in my understanding that you want some consequences for what happened at the craft show today?”

“Yeah… I mean, you keep talking like I don’t need a punishment, but… I don’t think I can believe that.” Dean swirled a piece of bread in his sauce, then abandoned it on the edge of the plate.

“Whether or not I feel you deserve a punishment is a moot point when _you_ feel you deserve one. My job as your dom is to meet your needs, and if you need this to be healthy, then it is my job to provide it.” Cas set his fork down with a clank, and reached across the table to take Dean’s hand. Dean looked up at him reluctantly. “We can discuss that in a minute, though. The root of this discussion is that you were expecting me to punish you for your behavior earlier, and I have _no right_ to do so.”

Dean’s eyes widened in shock at that, though he didn’t pull away from Cas. “No right?” How could Cas think he didn’t have any rights? “You’re my soulmate.” He motioned at his cuff. “I’ve got your name on my wrist.” He shied away from saying ‘you’re my dom’. He wasn’t ready to say that out loud yet; what if Cas didn’t agree?

Cas blinked slowly. “Well, yes,” he agreed. “But Dean, that doesn’t give me any rights over your person. We’ve entered no contract, negotiated nothing. Just because I am a dom and my name happens to be on your wrist does not give me free reign to do as I like with you.” His eyes took on that worried, earnest look again. The one Dean hated because it made him feel like Cas was trying to see to the center of him, to cut out the parts of him John had rooted deep. “Dean, your body is your own, and today at the craft show, you acted of your own accord, within your rights as a _person_. I was proud to be seen as your friend. But if you feel, honestly feel that you need some… _repercussions_ for your behavior there, then I am willing to negotiate a one time contract for this situation.”

“A one time contract?” His voice was small, and _damn_ he hated himself for that. One time. Of course. That was all Cas would need to know that Dean wasn’t any good at this sub stuff, and he could move on… Cas spoke before he could spiral much further into his self loathing.

“A one time contract. Dean, I want a longer contract with you. Of course I do. But neither of us is in the right emotional frame of mind to determine something longer than dealing with this, right now. After tonight, after we’ve both had some time to think, we can bring a longer, more permanent contract to the table. Right now what I need to know is why you feel like you need consequences for your actions today.”

Dean looked down at his hand, fingers entwined with Cas’. “Please, sir. I… Talkin’s good, it’s great. But until you punish me, it won’t be _over_. And I need it to be over.” He needed the feeling of reassurance that a punishment would give him, to know that everything was tied up in nice neat little bows. Maybe it was stupid sub bullshit, but it would make him feel better.

Cas winced at the term, but lifted Dean’s hand and kissed his knuckles before he let him go. There would be time to address the fact that Dean was apparently confusing him with John Winchester. “Whatever you need, Dean,” he agreed. “Very well. So, on to the specifics, then?” He uncapped the pen and began to write something at the top of the page; it looked like the date, and some sentence about the intention of their contract.

“What do we need that for? I… I give you permission. Whatever you wanna do. I trust you, Cas.” He’d never had a written contract before. Hell, he’d rarely had _verbal_ contracts, and they usually weren’t worth the words that were said anyway, so why take the time?

“Dean.” Cas’ voice was even, but a little disappointment seeped in. Dean winced. “While I appreciate your trust, no. If we are going to do this, we are going to do it _right_.”

Dean swallowed, his shoulders hunching again. Yep. Fucked up again, Winchester. Nice job. “Right. Okay. So… What’s the first step?”

Cas’ smile lost the disappointed cast, and Dean felt himself straighten a little in response. Maybe this wouldn’t end up totally fucked up. “Hard limits. What is absolutely off the table, no matter what?”

Dean frowned. They’d talked about this some, shouldn’t Cas know it already? “I… I don’t want you to hurt me,” he said, rehashing the brief altercation they’d had in the diner. That felt like years ago, though Dean knew that was the stress of the situation talking, and it had been merely weeks. “No hitting, no bruises, uh, no blood. Nothing sharp. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” Cas sounded a little skeptical, but nodded. “Alright. Well. Mine are those, yes, but also no scat or watersports; certainly nothing that can make you ill. And no breath play or electricity.” He shuddered at the thought, and dutifully wrote down both Dean’s limits and his own. “For today we will not discuss soft limits; this is not about pushing boundaries. The purpose of this contract is merely to address today’s situation, nothing more. Agreed?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Just so you can punish me for… Well. You know.” Shame still burned hot inside him when he thought about how _un_ sublike he’d been. It was ridiculous but how the hell could he expect Cas to lay a proper claim on him when he couldn’t even make it through a _craft show_ without blowing a gasket?

Cas made a noncommittal noise as he ripped off the top sheet of paper and began to transcribe the contract. “Do you have safewords you’d like to use tonight, or should we follow the traditional red-yellow-green?”

“I… What? I’m not gonna safeword, Cas. I can take it, whatever you’re gonna dish out.”

Cas’ eyes narrowed again, this time dangerous. “Dean,” he said, his voice low and serious. “I will not do this scene with you if you will not promise me that you will safeword if you need it. I will not debate this tonight, but know this: there is _no shame_ in being overwhelmed, in needing to slow down or stop.This is not about how much you can _take_. This is about getting you to the line where you need to be to meet your needs. But I cannot know if I’m pushing you past that line if you don’t _tell_ me. So I will ask you again. What safewords will we be using?”

Dean recoiled a little from the intensity of Cas’ gaze, but he had to admit, there was a tendril of pleasure that wound its way up his spine as he realized how seriously Cas was taking this. More seriously than anyone else Dean had ever scened with before. “Uh… Nothin’ special. I guess red-yellow-green’ll do.”

Cas watched him for a moment, as if assessing his honesty and willing to use the words if he needed them, before nodding and turning his attention back to the legal pad. He wrote a few more things down, and then passed the paper over to Dean.

“Alright, please read this carefully before you sign it, but I will give you the highlights. The top section outlines the reasons for this scene; primarily, your feeling you need consequences for how you behaved at the craft show today. Next I’ve listed our hard limits, and our safewords. If either of us feels the scene has gone too far, we are to stop it or slow it down. If either partner needs to check, they may ask at any time for their partner’s color, and will wait for a response before continuing. You agree to abide by consequences at my discretion, providing they do not stray into an area which is precluded by a hard limit. The scene is to end when I decide that appropriate consequences have been fulfilled, or at midnight tonight, whichever comes first.”

Dean read along the paper as Cas spoke, finding nothing in the contract that his dom hadn’t stated, and so he signed his name at the bottom, and dated it. Figures that Cas would even add a ‘date’ line on a hand written contract.

He passed the paper back and Cas read over once more before adding his signature to Dean’s. The other man smiled, and it was a more relaxed smile than Dean had seen since they walked in the door. “Perfect,” he said. Dean relaxed fractionally, even though it wasn’t even really praise.

“Can I do the dishes first? If you’re done eating.” Dean glanced at the room. There wasn’t much mess, because they’d cleaned up as they went, but the leftover food needed to be put away and the plates and cups washed.

Cas smiled and nodded, standing up. “I’ll help. What should I do?”

Dean looked surprised by the offer, and pointed to a cabinet. “You can get out some tupperware and put the food away? I’ll do the dishes.”

Cas came over, squeezing Dean’s arm gently. “That sounds good.” He kissed Dean’s cheek, then went to the cabinet Dean had indicated. He glanced at Dean as he filled the sink with water and began to soak the plates. His sub’s shoulders had lost some of the tension he had been carrying all day. The neater the kitchen became, the looser Dean’s shoulders got, and by the time he’d washed the last plate, he seemed nearly relaxed.

He tensed up a little when he put the plate on the drying rack, turning back to where Cas leaned on the counter watching. “Uh… Okay. All done.” He flushed, looking down. “I… What should I do now?”

“First, I want you to call me ‘Angel’ whenever we are in a scene together. Do you understand, Pretty?” Angel kept his voice even, but firm. He wasn’t going to get too soft, because Dean needed him strong right now.

Pretty nodded. “Yes, Angel,” he said. Relief flooded him. What if he’d had wanted ‘sir’? It had been mortifying enough to have it slip out earlier. He didn’t want their interactions tainted by John’s ghost haunting every word out of Pretty’s mouth. Of course, knowing his dom, he’d taken that into consideration before giving the order. “What… What do you want me to do?”

Angel stood and held out his hand. ”Come this way.” He led Pretty out to the couch. “I want you to sit here with me. It’s time that we had a little chat.” He waited patiently for Pretty to rearrange himself and get himself in a mostly comfortable position. “You may recall not so long ago we discussed my feelings on self-deprecation.”

Pretty nodded, staring down at his hands in confusion. This wasn’t why he was supposed to be punished; they’d gone over how inappropriate he’d been. But maybe Angel had seen some things he had done that also needed correction.

“Pretty.” Angel’s voice was still firm, though it didn’t sound angry. “I want you to look at me while we’re talking.” He brought his eyes up, meeting Angel’s tentatively. “Do you remember our conversation?”

“Yes, Angel,” Pretty managed softly. His hands found the hem of his shirt again, tugging on the threads and fiddling with the stitches.

“Do you recall what I said the consequences would be?”

“I’d hafta say somethin’ nice about myself,” Pretty mumbled, shifting his gaze to somewhere over Angel’s shoulder.

“I didn’t hear you, Pretty. ” Angel’s voice still wasn’t angry, but it didn’t allow for any deviation from his expectations. “Look _at_ me. What would the consequences be?”

Pretty flushed bright red. Trust Angel to really make him say it. It was reassuring to know his dom didn’t back down when he didn’t get the result he wanted. “You said I would need to listen to you say three good things for every negative one I said before, and you said you’d want me to tell them to you again tomorrow. But the contract ends at midnight!” He winced. “I mean. If you… Whatever you want…”

“No. You’re right, Pretty.” Angel smiled. “Our contract doesn’t allow for that kind of extended activity.” He stepped closer, trailing a hand up Pretty’s cheek gently. “I simply wanted to demonstrate that not all the consequences for your actions will be as you expect.” He stroked his sub’s hair for a moment longer, then moved around the couch.

His hand never left Pretty’s body while he moved, trailing across his throat, then down to his shoulders. Standing behind the couch, Angel began to stroke one hand slowly up Pretty’s spine. “I want you to listen to my voice, Pretty,” he said, his voice pitched low and even. “Don’t speak, unless you need to safeword.” He didn’t anticipate the need for that, but given his reticence to even offer one, Angel thought Pretty should be reminded that was an option.

Pretty nodded. His shoulders were tense, stiffer than they had been just a few moments before. Angel began a light massage, his fingers sussing out where the knots and tensions lay. He worked in silence for a few minutes, until he saw Pretty’s head drop a little. He smiled; good. The tension was leaving him, so it was time for phase two.

“You did a wonderful job today at the craft show,” he said, his voice still even but firm. He matched his hands to his words, finding knots and pressing at them with his thumb. He was gratified to hear a small groan leave Pretty’s lips as the knot beneath his hands released. “I would not have sold nearly as many paintings as I did if you weren’t with me. And it was invaluable to have the assistance getting things set up; it would have taken me two or three times as long to get everything from the car without your help.”

Pretty squirmed under his hands, fighting the urge to pull away completely. This wasn't what he had imagined, and it was hard not to stand up, demand what was supposed to be so punishing about this. It took a supreme force of will to submit, let Angel do what he wanted.

He started with the innocuous, the praise that Pretty had heard before. His hands worked steadily, moving from Pretty’s neck toward his shoulder blades, and down his spine. The knots were solid, and Angel knew it was going to take more than just this massage to make him loose and pliable like he should be, but he hoped he could make enough of a dent to make a difference. When it seemed that Pretty was listening without waiting for the other shoe to drop, he stepped it up a little.

“Words cannot say how _proud_ I was today, watching you.” He felt Pretty’s shoulders tense again, so he pressed on. “You were so fierce today, so very brave.” Pretty looked up, then, lifting his head from where it had been resting on his chest. His green eyes were confused, and Angel leaned in for a soft kiss to his temple.

"You were so strong, standing up to him like that. I was awed that you were willing to do that for me."

Pretty leaned back as the dom began to stroke his shoulder blades with more pressure. The words were unexpected, intense. How could he mean that? He itched to question him, but he was a good boy, so he kept his mouth shut.

He closed his eyes as the words kept rolling over him. "It is humbling to know that you are willing to give yourself up to me. That someone as strong as you are chooses to give me any agency over your body."

 _That_ startled a jerk from Pretty, and a questioning noise. At Angel's firmer squeeze, he subsided. His dom waited until he settled again, and resumed speaking. “It was wonderful to see how brave you are, Pretty. You are good with your words, and able to keep your emotions under control.”

Pretty began relaxing again. He rested his head against the back of the couch, and his eyes drifted closed. It was strange; by giving himself up to Angel, he felt a greater sense of freedom than he’d ever felt before. The touches felt natural, safe, and a floaty feeling began to creep onto the edge of his consciousness. Angel’s words of praise brought a warm feeling to his chest; it felt like he was glowing.

Angel didn’t stop touching him, rubbing him, until it felt like he was as limp as a noodle. Pretty latched onto each and every word that left his lips, though it seemed to have dropped into simple repetitions of “you are so good, so strong for me,” and variations of that idea.

Eventually, his dom stopped rubbing his shoulders and came to settle on the couch next to him. It took every ounce of his willpower not to immediately curl against his dom. The man saved him from thinking too hard about it, because he shifted close enough to wrap Pretty in his arms and hold him close.

“There now, Pretty,” he soothed softly. “You’ve been so good for me. You took that so well, I’m so proud of you.” He kissed Pretty on the temple, and the sub arched into the touch. He made a small sound of pleasure, and Angel chuckled. “You can speak if you like, Pretty,” he said, his fingers stroking and tangling gently in Pretty’s hair. “How do you feel?”

Pretty’s eyes drooped closed as he relaxed into the strokes against his scalp. “Fuzzy,” he murmured sleepily. “Good.” His dom’s chuckle wasn’t angry or demeaning, and it gave another warm surge in his belly to hear it.

“Good.” Angel was quiet then, and they sat just that way for a long while. Pretty had no idea how long, floating as he was in the hazy warmth that Angel had kindled in him. It was more peaceful than he’d felt in such a long time. Eventually, though, Angel shifted. He pressed another kiss to Pretty’s head and nudged his shoulder gently. “Pretty… I need you to come up now.” His voice was even, coaxing, and Pretty turned his attention sleepily upward.

“Mm?” He blinked once, twice, shifting a little bit. “Wassa… Angel?” Come up? His head was still fuzzy, but Angel was urging him to sit up, stroking his neck and arms a little more firmly. With his head up off Angel’s lap, it was easier to focus. The warm fuzzy feeling began to dissipate, though the relaxation in his shoulders stayed. He blinked again. “Dude, what the hell?” His voice was confused, but worry couldn’t quite pierce through the calm he’d been given.

Angel smiled. “I believe, Pretty, what you were experiencing was subspace; a particular set of hormonal changes in the brain specific to subs. It’s a positive thing; it means you felt so safe in your submission that you did not need to keep up your guard.” He pressed a kiss to Pretty’s forehead. “I hadn’t ever seen it before tonight, only read about it… I am honored that you felt safe enough with me that you could make that leap.”

Pretty shifted, uncomfortable. “But I thought you were going to punish me? I mean…”

Angel shook his head. “No. I said there would be consequences for your actions at the craft show. This is what I decided were fair consequences. Are you questioning my choice?”

There was a hint of steel in his tone, and Pretty shook his head quickly. “No, Angel,” he said. That warmth flared briefly in his chest again as his dom asserted himself, made him want to curl up in that strong embrace. Angel had proved he could be trusted, didn’t dole out pain, at least this time. Following his instincts, he did just that and burrowed against Angel’s shoulder, getting comfortable.

“Good.” His dom’s voice was gentler this time, and he stroked Pretty’s hair again. “I know that what we did just now was not as… intense as some scenes,” he said. “But it is still a good idea for you to rehydrate and balance your blood sugar. Would you prefer orange or apple juice?”

Pretty tucked himself against his dom, shaking his head. “ ‘M okay,” he protested. “Don’ need anythin’.” He didn’t want to move, to lose the cocoon of warmth they’d created on the couch.

“Pretty.” Angel’s voice held a small tone of warning, and Pretty pouted a little. “I think you need to drink something.”

“Don’t wanna get up,” he mumbled, shifting to look up at his dom. Strange, how usually that admission would feel so weak, so _useless_ , but right now, it felt nothing more than honest and right to say.

Angel’s chuckle was indulgent, and he leaned down to kiss his forehead. “You don’t need to,” he said, giving Pretty a squeeze. “I’ll go, and be right back. Do you have a preference?” He wrapped the blanket from the back of the couch around Pretty’s shoulders, trapping the warmth close.

Pretty shook his head. It took everything in him not to whimper as his dom stood up and pulled away. “I’ll be right back.” Pretty watched him go, but it really was only a few moments later that he returned with a glass of orange juice. Pretty willingly scooted over so that Angel could sit next to him, and he wormed a hand out for the glass. He was surprised to see how shaky his hand was, but he managed a few sips before Angel took it back and set it down.

They settled together on the couch as they had been before, and Angel smiled to see how relaxed Pretty remained. “Do you feel better now, Pretty?”

He thought for a moment, nodded. “Yeah, I do.” He sounded a little surprised by that. “I didn’t think I would. I mean… I thought you’d be angry or somethin’.” A part of him didn’t want to share that, but a bigger part knew it was important for his dom to know, and after everything else they’d gone over that night, this was barely a blip on his radar.

“I can see why you might think that. I wanted to remind you that the consequences I feel are appropriate may not be like the ones you’ve had before. But you took it very well.” His movements seemed made up all of soft touches and gentle movements, as he pressed yet another kiss to his sub’s temple. Pretty preened a little. It felt so _good_ to be praised by his dom like that!

“Thank you, Angel,” he said, feeling a smile stretch across his own lips. He couldn’t remember ever being this relaxed after a scene. Usually he felt shaky, shocky, sometimes for hours afterward. “Can we… I’d like to watch a movie, if that would please you?.” He didn’t want to leave the couch, and Angel was so warm and comfortable. He’d wanted to watch a movie earlier, but now it just seemed right to ask if Angel wanted to, first.

“That sounds lovely, Pretty,” his dom agreed. He shifted and reached for the remote. “I’m going to see if there’s something we’d like to watch on the television.” Pretty tightened his arms around him a little, to forestall him changing his mind and going for a movie from the bedroom..

“Sounds good. I’m easy.” He honestly felt halfway to sleep, and getting to spend the time before bed with his dom was the icing on the cake.

Angel chuckled, flipping channels until a rerun of Buffy came on. He paused. “Are you a Buffy fan, Pretty? I know it isn’t a movie, but I do enjoy this show.”

“Sounds good,” Pretty agreed. Buffy was easy to watch, and he’d seen them all at least twice, so he didn’t care if he fell asleep.

Angel set the remote down and picked up the juice, holding it to Pretty’s lips. “Sip a little more,” he urged. Pretty obeyed, and they watched the show in companionable silence. Occasionally Angel would put the juice to his lips, and Pretty would sip again, until it was finally empty. After that, he drifted on the comfortable haze his dom’s touch encouraged. He was more than half asleep when the fifth episode tipped over to some rerun of Cheers. It was full dark outside, and Angel shifted a little.

“You will be more comfortable in the bed,” he said, urging Pretty up.

“Mmngh…” Pretty knew he wasn’t dignified. He didn’t really care. He heaved a small sigh, blinked, and then tightened his arms. “Stay?”

Angel smiled. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving if you don’t want me to, Dean.”

The name cut through the haze a little bit. The scene was over, then. Some part of him didn’t want it to be, didn’t want to lose the cotton wool he’d been wrapped in for the last hours. But they couldn’t scene forever, he knew that. He licked his lips, pushing up from the couch. He definitely _was_ stiff, but he didn’t regret it. This was still the most rested he’d felt in ages.

He offered Cas a hand, and his dom took it without hesitation, letting Dean pull him to his feet. “Let’s go brush our teeth,” Cas said, a guiding hand on Dean’s back. They traded time in the bathroom smoothly, Cas dressing for bed again in one of Dean’s old tee shirts and a pair of sweats. When Dean was similarly attired, they crawled into bed, and Cas held open his arms. Dean slid in without hesitation this time.

“Hey, Cas?” His voice was soft in the dark, and he was glad that he wasn’t illuminated too much.

“Yes, Dean?”

“Thanks.”

Cas’ answer came first as a tender kiss to his lips that Dean relaxed into without hesitation. “You are always welcome, Dean. Anything you need.” He kissed Dean again, and held him close, and Dean smiled in the darkness. He believed it was the truth.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Sorry for the long wait on this one. I've come to figure out that this particular story makes my anxiety amp up a LOT. I can write the first draft okay, but the editing really takes a toll on me. So, that being said, I LOVE this story, and I'm certainly going to keep working on it, but just be patient with me, because for my sanity I need to take breaks sometimes (see: Batman and Robin, haha).
> 
> Thanks as always to the amazing Lisa for talking me through the edits and making this a much stronger chapter. Also for the banner (which has only been up for a few chapters.) And also to Shi, even though he'll never see it, for talking me through a writing schedule that may cut my anxiety and make this an easier story to write. You're both awesome!
> 
> Thanks everyone for waiting so patiently... Here's the next chapter! Enjoy!
> 
> Dare

The weekend spent together was filled with the fuzzy haze that Cas called subspace. Dean hadn’t been in it all weekend, of course, but the rest of their time together had been colored by the feelings of safety and trust it had given him.

By the time Cas dropped Dean off at work on Monday, Dean was more relaxed than he’d been in ages. His mind was on his dom as he stepped out of the car, pressing a quick kiss to Cas’ lips. “See you later,” he said, flushing a little as he closed the door, glancing over his shoulder to see Cas still watching him as he walked inside.

They hadn’t negotiated any further contract, had just spent the time together, but Dean felt a little more settled in their relationship. At least, he was until Cas drove off. He _also_ felt guilty, because Cas had arguably spent the weekend taking care of him. No matter how his dom protested, Dean still knew he could have spent his weekend doing better things than soothing Dean’s conscience. 

Mal grinned at him as he stowed his jacket in the locker and stepped into his coveralls. “Hey, Dean. Have a good weekend? How was the craft show?”

“Yeah. It was… good.” He shrugged a little, zipping his coveralls up. “We, uh, we Scened, after,” he said, flushing. “It was good.” 

“Dean! That’s great!” Mal clapped him on the shoulder with enough force to make Dean stumble as he reached for his boot. “So can I expect to see an invite for a contract ceremony soon?”

“What?” Dean looked up with a strangled shout. He cleared his throat, continuing in a more modulated tone. “I don’t… No. I mean, one day maybe but… No, dude, it’s way too soon.” He looked away, shaking his head. “I’m sure Cas wants to Scene a few more times first anyway, just to make sure, you know, I’m worth it.”

Mal’s concern was visible in his eyes, when Dean dared a glance up. “Pfft. Don’t be silly, Dean. I saw him drop you off. The look on his face says you are more than worth it to him. And if you weren’t, if for some _unfathomable_ reason he said or did something that would indicate that you weren’t, well, he’s not the one for you.” 

Dean huffed a laugh, standing up and shaking his head. “Yeah, well. It was a good weekend. Really. I guess I just don’t quite get what I’m doing, you know?”

“Nobody does, Dean!” Mal patted Dean’s shoulder firmly, shooting the younger man a grin. “That’s what makes relationships so beautiful.”

Dean laughed, shaking his head. “I hope you’re right, Mal.” He paused for a second, then shook his head. There was a time and a place for talking about Cas, and now wasn’t it. “Let’s get to work, yeah?” The less time he spent at work detailing his romantic relationships, the better.

The early part of the morning passed quickly. Routine oil change, changing the brakes on a teenager’s sedan, resetting the pressure gauge on the air machine. Dean looked up from his work when a delivery truck came in, and Mal called out to him. “Hey Dean, Can you help offload the truck? I’m knee deep in brake pads.”

Dean nodded to his boss and headed across the front of the shop. “Sure thing, bossman,” he said easily. Offloading gave him plenty of time to think, and he wasn’t going to complain about that. He had a lot of weekend to come to terms with.

He bobbed his head along with the Metallica song he was humming to himself as he carried the heavy box of parts across from the loading dock. He wasn’t really paying attention to the yard. Other than the sedan idling in front of the bays it was a pretty deserted Monday morning.

Dean realized he was right behind the sedan when he heard the engine revving. “Woah! Stop!” He dropped the box with a clatter while diving out of the way. He caught his boot on the edge of it, tripping as the car backed up. His right leg slammed into the bay door, jamming it into an awkward position. 

A scream tore from his lips as the impossible weight of the car passed on top of his legs. His head hit the concrete with a crack, and he clenched his eyes tightly against the flare of pain as the weight of the car rolled forward again and everything went black.

Mal dropped his wrench as Dean’s scream came through the open bay. He darted out hot on the heels of a terrified feminine shriek, to find Dean bleeding in front of the bay doors. The teenager who owned the sedan knelt near him, crying.

“What the hell?” Mal ran toward Dean, the other mechanics hot on his heels. “Call nine one one!” He called over his shoulder. 

Dean came to with blinding pain. His legs were burning from his hips to his toes. Nothing, not John’s training or Kale and the gang, had ever been this bad. The world tilted as he lifted his head, and it felt back with a thunk when he saw the bright bone dripping blood sticking out of his right leg. He gagged, choking, and then Mal was there.

Mal shouldered the girl aside as Dean began to vomit, rolling him to the side. Dean let out another howl of pain as his leg jolted. Mal held his head, stroking his hair. “Hur’s, Mal,” he managed, his voice hoarse after emptying his stomach.

“I know, Dean,” Mal soothed gently. Despite his tone, his heart was pounding, and his hands shook where they supported Dean’s head. “Help’s coming. They’ll get you hooked up to the good stuff, yeah? Taylor! Get her out of here! And somebody move that car, clear a path for the ambulance. And find me a blanket or sheet or something! He’s gonna go into shock!”

Taylor came over, wrapping an arm around the girl and drawing her to the other side of the bay. Her sobs echoed in the garage, but Mal blocked them out. Dean was more important. “Hey. Stay with me. It’s okay. You’re gonna be ok, Dean, alright? Just stay awake.” One of the mechanics jogged to his truck, coming back with an old, but clean, fleece blanket. Mal tucked it around Dean’s shoulders, not shifting away from his friend.

“Mmhm.” Dean tried to block out the fiery pain shooting up both legs by focusing on breathing, and his mind drifted. Cas. Cas would make this so much better. After so much time together that weekend, he could imagine his dom’s voice without hardly even trying.

_Just lie still, Dean. Such a good boy. Just breathe for me, Pretty…_

Dean let his eyes drift closed. He opened them again only when Mal tapped his cheek again. “I know,” he muttered petulantly, his voice still barely above the painful whisper of before. “Stay ‘wake.”

“That’s right.” Mal chuckled. “What the hell’s takin’ that ambulance?” Logically he knew it had only been a few minutes, but every second that Dean’s blood dripped on his garage floor was a second too long. 

Dean barely heard Mal, his memory of Cas’ voice had him half expecting Cas to have taken Mal’s place beside him when he opened his eyes again. Of course, that wasn’t the case.

“Just a few more minutes, okay?” Mal’s statement was punctuated by the wail of sirens, and an ambulance pulled in moments later. Mal soothed Dean as he recoiled from the noise, watching as the ambulance stopped and the paramedics sprang into action. 

“Sir… Sir, can you hear me?” The first paramedic to reach Dean knelt by his head, pulling a penlight off his belt to begin an assessment. “My name’s Daniel, and my partner is Tory. We’re here to help. Can you tell me your name?” He turned on the light, watching Dean’s wince as his pupils contracted against the flash.

“M’ name’s Dean Winchester,” he said slowly, breathing hard to try and escape the pain. “M’ legs… Hurt,” he managed, dropping his head onto Mal’s knee. The paramedic squeezed Dean’s shoulder comfortingly.

“I bet they do,” he said. “And as soon as Tory gets over here we’re gonna get you up on the stretcher and then we can get the IV started, okay? It’s just gonna be a couple of more seconds. Take deep breaths for me, Dean.” He obeyed as well as he could as Daniel began a quick triage. Nausea still lingered in the back of his throat, but he forced it away. 

“What happened here?” he asked Mal, who still hadn’t moved away. 

“The sedan ran him over; I don’t know how. I was inside. But the car was practically on top of him when I got out here.I think he must’ve hit his head,” Mal said. He was still stroking Dean’s hair. “He passed out, for sure; he was out when I got here, and he’s got a lump on his head right here..”

Dean nodded weakly. “Fuck’n hur’s.” he slurred, and Mal nodded, making soothing noises again.

“I know it does, Dean,” he agreed. “They’re gonna get you all fixed up.”

It only took a few minutes before Tory was there with braces to go around his legs and neck, and a backboard to slide him onto. “Okay, Dean… We’re gonna be as gentle as we can, okay? We’re going to stabilize your neck, back and legs. Try not to nod. I know it’s hard to resist. Just lie still and try to breathe for us. We’re gonna get you on the backboard and on the stretcher, then we’ll get your IV started, okay?”

Dean remembered the restrictions just before he started to nod, and mumbled “‘Kay,” instead. Daniel and Tory moved quickly, starting with the c-collar, straightening his neck and forcing him to look at the sky. He screamed when they slid the backboard under him; his legs had to move to accommodate the board and he blacked out briefly again.

“Dean? Dean!” He swam back to consciousness at Mal’s terrified call; he started to reach out and realized he couldn’t move his arms. It took everything in him to restrain his terror as they strapped the braces around his legs on the board. He was completely immobilized except fingers and toes, and his toes hurt too much to even consider wiggling. Panic burned its way up through his gut at his lack of freedom, and he began to breathe even faster.

 _Pretty, you’re being so good for me, lying still so they can get you on the stretcher. That’s it, Dean. Breathe. You’re doing so well. Just a few minutes more and everything will be alright._

“Dean, please, I need you to calm down for me.” Daniel’s voice, new and unusual, cut through his panic in concert with Cas’ voice and Dean swallowed down another surge of nausea. “We’re going to lift you onto the stretcher now, okay?”

Dean _couldn’t_ nod now, his head restrained by the cervical collar they’d strapped him into. He managed a hoarse “yeah,” and they hoisted him up onto the stretcher. He fought not to pass out again as dots swam in front of his eyes at the renewed pain in his leg with his movement, despite it being just a few inches off the ground. _Breathe for me, Pretty, in. Out. In. Out._ he heard in his head, and he forced himself to comply.

“There we go, Dean,” Daniel soothed as he added even more straps designed to hold Dean’s backboard down onto the stretcher. “All done with this part. Let’s get you in the bus so we can get that IV started, okay?”

As soon as he was in the ambulance, Tory was readying a needle and cleaning Dean’s hand. He slid the needle into the vein skillfully. Its small, sharp pain was barely distinguishable compared to the unceasing throbbing pain in his legs, but it was quickly followed by a rush of cool liquid as he got the morphine drip going.

Mal hadn’t left Dean’s side, always there in his peripheral vision. “You guys going to St. Claire’s?” 

“Yes, that’s the closest hospital,” Daniel said as he locked down the gurney’s wheels.

“Okay. I’m his next of kin, I’m coming with you.” He turned to Taylor, who was still standing with the girl. “You wait for the cops, tell them I’m at St. Claire’s if they need me.”

Dean struggled for a moment with his arm before he remembered he was restrained. “Mal… Mal…” It was getting hard to concentrate because everything was floaty and weird from the morphine, but he knew he had to _focus_ because this was _important_. “Don’ gedd’er‘n trouble, Mal,” he slurred out, proud that his words were as clear as they were. “No’ her faul’. S’san accy… Accydin’.” His voice was getting more slurred, but he didn’t think he’d imagined the concerned look on Mal’s face as he reached for his hand.

“Okay Dean,” he agreed. “I’ll take care of it. You just rest, okay?” He looked up at the paramedics.  
“What are you waiting for? Let’s get going!”

As they started down the road, the paramedics asked for Dean’s medical history. Mal answered what he knew without hesitation, knowing Dean could fill them in better after they got him taken care of. Dean let himself float on the rumble of his voice, not trying to help. Morphine was a wonderful thing. 

Dean was startled into bleary attention by the flurry of movement as soon as the ambulance pulled into the emergency bay at the hospital. An unfamiliar voice broke through the fray. “Get him into x-ray! Theater three is ready for surgery as soon as we have the films.” 

The gurney came out of the ambulance with a jolt, breaking Dean’s fragile concentration as bright lights began to whiz by overhead. His nausea was back as he watched them spin by too fast to count; he focused on breathing in and out, to keep his gag reflex at bay. He was drawn out of his miserable reverie when he heard his name. 

“Mister Winchester? Hi… I’m Doctor Lee.” His eyes wanted to close against the bright lights, but he fought to pay attention as a woman’s face swam into focus. “We’re getting you in for some x-rays. As soon as we know the extent of the damage, we’ll get you into surgery. We’re going to take good care of you, though, okay?”

“Mmhm…” Dean tried to nod but the collar in the way stopped it. Cas. Where was Cas? He never had nightmares in bed with Cas… Except this wasn’t a nightmare, it was real, wasn’t it? He slumped back against the gurney as they wheeled him down the hall as he remembered he’d told them to leave Cas out of it. Fuck.

The x-ray room was colder than the hallways; He didn’t know when but someone had cut the legs of his pants off which made it worse. He tried to hold the positions they asked, and guessed they must have got what they wanted, because they dragged his gurney out of the room and down the hall to another room. He was released from the c-collar, too. That felt good.

The pretty nurse walking next to him, managing his IV pole, tapped his hand to get his attention.  
“We’re on our way to pre-op.” She smiled at him. “Is there anyone we can call for you?” 

_Cas_ , Dean itched to answer. His dom. Right at that moment, Dean wanted nothing more than Cas at his side. They might not be official, but the gruff voice in his head had been reassurance through more traumas in Dean’s life than anyone else, and Dean craved that now. They _weren’t_ official, though, and it wasn’t fair to ask Cas to drop everything and come rushing to the hospital. Dean was going into surgery; there wasn’t anything he could really do right now. 

Cas was probably in class, doing something important. He didn’t need to come to Dean. _’I’ll call him… later, when I’m settled,’_ Dean thought groggily before answering. “No… No one.” Mal was still his official next-of-kin, and he already knew. Everyone else could wait.

Mal didn’t seem to agree, because he was speaking up. When did Mal get there? “No, no, he has a dom.” Dean vaguely remembered Mal patting his hand before he was wheeled into x-ray; hadn’t he gone to a waiting room? He dragged his attention back to his friend. “It’s… relatively new. Dean, what about Angel? Wouldn’t he want to be here?”

Dean frowned. “Why’d he wanna c’me?” He said blearily, his despair leaking into his voice. “Can’t... do nothin’...”

Mal frowned as well. “He’d want to be here for you, Dean.” He squeezed Dean’s hand, seeing how distressed his friend was. Still; Cas was Dean’s dom! He knew that in this situation, there was _no way_ his wife wouldn’t want to be called, certainly Cas would be the same. 

“C’n you text ‘im for me? Don’ wanna bother ‘imt’ come. Gotta cancelour date.” He patted the bed out of habit, now that his hands were free. “W’rs my phone?”

Mal smiled at the slurred words, but it faded quickly. He only had a few minutes before they were going to get Dean into surgery, and he didn’t want to go behind Dean’s back. 

“It was in your pants, Dean, lie still,” Mal ordered. “I’ve got it. Don’t worry.” Dean looked so out of it, Mal’s skin crawled. How long was this going to take? Time flowed like molasses, though the clock said it was only five minutes since they’d come to the prep room to wait for the surgery. 

Mal was on his feet the moment the nurse walked in. “The surgeon is here, Dean; we’re gonna get you started, okay?” Dean nodded, blinking blearily. He was sure his boss would explain it later, so he didn’t even try to listen to the explanation.

 _You’re doing so well, Pretty_ , the voice in his head told him. Cas still wasn’t there. _You don’t want to bother him, dumbass. Got yourself hit by a fuckin’ car.. Why would he even_ want _to come?_ His thoughts grew darker as the morphine haze faded and pain returned. When were they going to fix his fuckin’ leg?

Mal’s attention was split between the surgeon’s explanation and the fact that Dean was getting paler and paler. “Do what you need to do,” he said quickly. “Pins, plates, whatever. We’ll deal with getting around once you get him fixed.” 

“Alright. I just need you to sign these consents; I’m going to go scrub up and the nurse will show you where to sign.There is risk with any anesthesia but at this point we need to do something.”

Mal nodded. “Of course.” He stepped over, squeezing Dean’s hand. “Dean, did you hear that? We need to do the surgery, or you’re going to lose your leg. I’m going to authorize them, okay? It’s going to be alright.”

The hand on his was hot, like fire, and Dean zoned in on the tight squeeze. “No, no… I m’n… You c’n… jus’… Yeah…” His eyes drifted closed as he listened to Mal signing the papers. Another person he didn’t know talked to him, but he was too busy imagining Cas was there with him. He refocused with effort. “Wh’n… C’n y’ tecks Cas?” He blinked sleepily. “I w’s... s’posed t’meet him… Tell ‘im…Tell... Tell ‘im I’m gon’ b’late.”

Mal squeezed his hand again. “You already asked me that, Dean,” Mal soothed. “I’ll tell him, Dean. Don’t worry. Don’t you want him to come here?”

“No… No…” Dean shook his head. He smiled a little though, imagining Cas there, and he flopped back against the pillow again. Cas would know just what to say.

 _You’re such a good boy, Dean… That’s it, just relax. It’s almost time and you’ll feel so much better after…_ Dean relaxed as Cas’ words murmured in his head. Why wasn’t Cas there? He flexed his hand, looking for Cas’, but of course his hand remained empty. Right… He told Mal he didn’t need Cas. That was wrong; of course he did. Cas always made him feel better. Cas was the best hand holder. 

His bed was moving. Nobody was holding his hand, and the lights overhead flashed as they passed underneath. How many people did they _have_ in this place? There was _another_ new face above him, and he was queasy again from the movement. They stopped in a room that was too bright, too cold. Someone else was talking to him, noises he couldn’t make out filtering in slowly. “I w’s wrong,” he mumbled, and a new man paused in the application of a mask over Dean’s face.

“What was wrong, mister Winchester?”

“Cas… I miss Cas…”

The man paused and reached to pat Dean’s shoulder awkwardly. “Alright, mister Winchester. Well, we’ll do what we can about that, okay? I need you to breathe this in now.. Slow, deep breaths, count backward from one hundred.”

Dean blinked blearily, but nodded. “A hunnert… Nineynine… Nineyate…” And between one breath and the next, everything went dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean shifted in the bed as he woke,and the pain in his legs went from unpleasant throb to lancing fire. He gave a startled yell, screwing his eyes shut against the pain; the anesthetic wore off slowly and then all at once.

A warm hand closed over his, squeezing gently. “Dean.” He’d know that rough voice anywhere, even deepened with worry. But it couldn’t be, because he remembered telling them he didn’t need anyone called, so he must be imagining things.

He didn’t want to confirm that the chair was empty like he knew it was, but soft fingers stroked his cheek. He turned his head into the caress as the pain in his legs abated a little. “Dean… Are you awake?” The concern in the voice finally prompted Dean’s eyes to flicker open. He blinked through the morphine haze, finally realizing, no, he _wasn’t_ imagining.

“Angel?” His voice was hoarse still, and he cleared his throat before squeezing weakly at Cas’ hand. “What’re y’ doin’ here?”

Cas’ brow furrowed, but he smoothed it quickly, not wanting to upset Dean. “Mal called me,” he said. “I got here as soon as I could, but you were already in surgery… I’ve been waiting an hour or so for you to wake up.”

Dean’s head lolled on the pillow, weak as a babe thanks to the pain medicine. “Y’re… Here…” He blinked blearily. “I tol’ them… No’ t’ call.” His head felt heavy, uncoordinated. He reached for Cas’ hand. Was it always that hard to reach up? He couldn’t quite aim right, and for a moment he just watched his hand, fascinated. It didn’t even feel like his, like the appendage belonged to someone far away. His eyes refocused on his dom when he finally succeeded in catching Cas’ hand. “Didn’... I didn’... wanna bother you…”

“Dean…” Cas squeezed his hand back, then leaned over to kiss his forehead. “Dean, you’re _never_ a bother to me. I want to be there for you, whatever you need. And that _especially_ applies to days when you are in the hospital! Dean, I was so worried… And I am so grateful to Mal for telling me quickly so I could be here when you woke up. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner.”

Dean’s eyes blinked slowly as he drooped, dropping his head on the pillow again. Every blink took his eyes out of focus again as he struggled to pay attention to Cas. It was hard, because every heartbeat carried a bolt of pain up his legs, a constant throb that was quickly becoming all consuming. “I… Sorry…” His voice slurred a little bit as he tried to get the words out. “Y’ had ‘mp’rtnt stuff t’ do… Didn’ needta be h’re wi’ my s’rry ass..”

“Shh, Dean. It’s alright.” Cas smiled, leaning over to kiss Dean’s forehead. His stomach clenched at the idea that Dean thought there was anywhere Cas would rather be than with him in this situation. Clearly they had more to discuss. “We can talk about it later. For now, I’m here, and you’re safe. You just need to rest. I’m going to be right here… Are you hurting?”

Dean nodded sleepily. “Yeah… ‘S better, tho… Than’t was…” He lied a little bit, yeah, but he didn’t want to worry Cas more.

Cas leaned back and reached over, passing Dean a small remote. “Here, Dean. The nurse said this is your morphine pump. If you press the button it will give you more medicine and you can sleep.”

Dean frowned. “But y’r h’re… I don’ wanna jus’ fall ‘sleep…” His dom was here, out of nowhere, and he didn’t want to miss a minute.

“Shh, shh… I don’t mind. I want you to rest, to not hurt.” He brushed Dean’s hair back from his face. “Pretty, I want you to sleep, so you can heal. Go ahead , press the button if you need more medicine, and close your eyes. I’ll stay right here until you wake up. I promise.”

“Alright.” Dean seemed like he was still reluctant, but he pressed the button on his morphine pump and let out a small sigh of pleasure as the cool feeling spread through his veins. He clenched his grip over Cas’ hand. “Don’ go ‘way,” he begged. “Stay wi’ me…”

Cas smiled sadly, leaning over to kiss Dean’s forehead again. “I won’t,” he promised. “I’m right here. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Dean smiled a little bit. The cooling rush of the morphine left him feeling loose and floaty, and he turned his head toward Cas again. “My g’rdi’n angel,’ he slurred, blinking slowly again. “Yanno… Y’ nev’r hear ‘bout angels with dark hair… Wunner why? Alla angels ‘re always with blon’ hair an’ blue eyes an’ all pretty an’ glowy…”

Cas was blinking at him with a bemused expression, so Dean thought he must have to explain a little more. “Y’r pretty, an… Y’ve go’ blue eyes,’ he explained patiently. “But y’r hair’s dark… ‘Re you th’ only dark hair angel?”

Cas’ smile was a little less sad as he reached up to stroke Dean’s cheek. “I think you may be confusing me with someone else,” He said with a small chuckle. “I take it you are feeling better?”

Dean moved his hand slowly, uncoordinatedly, to grasp Cas’ wrist again. He nodded blearily, but when he spoke, it was with a pondering expression. “I don’ think I’d like you ‘smuch if y’ were blon’... I like y’r hair. Is nice… Soft. Y’r hair ‘s really soft. Are y’ sure y’r an angel? Y’ coul’ be… A nephilim.” He pronounced the last carefully, trying to be sure he said it right. His lips didn’t seem to be working quite right. “Neflim ‘re part human,” he said informatively. “Mebbe y’r part neflim…” He smiled again. “Yeah? That ‘splains th’ dark hair.”

Cas blinked again, shaking his head. “I assure you, Dean, I am entirely human.” He let Dean keep holding his hand, leaning forward to kiss his forehead once more.

“Nuh uh,” Dean protested. “Y’r a Angel… All glowy an’ shiny… Y’r always here when I need you…” He tugged Cas’ hand down to his chest, holding it there tightly. “My g’rdian angel.”

Cas’ smile this time was radiant and Dean felt an answering smile tug across his lips. “If you say so, Dean,” he said gently, rubbing his free hand along Dean’s shoulder to squeeze gently. “Why don’t you try and take a nap? You’ll feel better if you rest a little bit. But I’ll stay right here, I promise.”

Dean pulled a face. “Noo...Y’r always talkin’ about sleep,” he said with a pout. “Jus’ cuz angels don’ need t’ sleep doesn’ mean I'm sleepy. Wattif I wanna talk? I havvan angel and I don’ wanna sleep throo it…”

Cas chuckled. “Alright Dean,” he allowed. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. But I won’t leave, you won’t be sleeping through anything.” He shifted his grip so his thumb slid under the stretchy cotton band they’d replaced his cuff with during surgery. He rubbed lightly there, in the soothing gesture he knew helped Dean to relax. Maybe he could relax his sub into taking a nap? Dean’s eyes followed Cas’ movements, and grew wide when he realized his cuff was gone.

“M’ cuff! Angel, m’ cuff…” His voice, previously so contented, was pained and scared. “Wh’rs my’ cuff? D’d th’see m’ Name? They’re not s’posed to… ‘S rude…” He tugged weakly on Cas’ hand, wanting to check on his wrist, as though afraid his Name was gone.

His dom’s eyes widened, and he moved to catch Dean’s hand more firmly. “Dean. Dean, shh… Pretty, it’s okay. It’s fine. Your cuff is in your things, in the closet. With your shirt. I’m sure they didn’t look at your Name; it’s in their job description to change and not check. You’re okay.”

Dean shook his head. “Not s’posed to look,” he mumbled. “Need it.”

“Alright, Dean,” Cas said quickly. “Of course. I’ll get it.” He let go of Dean and went to the closet, reaching into Dean’s bag of belongings until he found the leather cuff. He came back to Dean and settled into the chair again. “Dean… Can I take your temporary cuff off?” He was tentative; Dean seemed so fragile right now. 

“Don’ look,” Dean said, slurring. “On’y Cas’ ‘possed t’ look. Iss th’ rules.” 

Dean’s assertion that Cas was Angel and not himself was disconcerting; he hoped it was only the pain medications talking, and not a latent head injury not yet identified. “Of course, Dean,” he said. He didn’t want the first time he saw his lover’s Name to be in these circumstances, anyway. He carefully buckled the cuff around Dean’s wrist, then slid a thumb underneath to tug out the stretchy cotton. “There. All better.” 

Dean smiled, relaxed again. “Thanks,” he said, giggling a little and squeezing Cas’ hand. “You’re swee’, Angel…” He yawned, shifting and closing his eyes. They lasted just a few moments before he forced them open again. “M’ leg hur’s,” he whispered, sharing a secret.

“I know, Dean,” Cas said as he pulled his chair closer to the bed. “Why don’t you rest? I’ll be here, I promise.”

Dean huffed out a sigh. “I guess.” He let his eyes close again. 

Cas sighed softly, resuming his gentle stroking up and down Dean’s arm. His sub’s words echoed in the silence. Didn’t want to bother you, shouldn’t worry about my sorry ass. His Dean, precious and beautiful, still didn’t think he was worth anything. “I’m going to take care of you, Dean,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb Dean’s nap. “Whether you think you deserve it or not.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I can manage myself.” Dean set his shoulders stubbornly as Sam sat down opposite him. “I appreciate the offer, but no.”

“Dean, I know you want to just do it all alone, but that’s not a good idea! What if something happened? Being by yourself, if you fell or got stuck somewhere, you couldn’t get help. It’s only for a few months, and we’d love to have you.”

Dean gave his wheelchair a push toward the window, unable to meet his brother’s eyes. The worst of it was that he knew Sam was right. He couldn’t go home alone, and he didn’t want to go to a nursing home. It was going to be at least six weeks before he was allowed to put weight on his leg, and another six after that before the cast _might_ come off. But his books were at home, and so were his traps and guns. He was worse than useless like this, and what if John called? 

“I just can’t do it, Sam,” Dean said, shaking his head. _I can’t be that kind of burden. This is bad enough as it is._

“Can’t do what, Dean?” The sound of his dom’s voice drew Dean around slowly, sheepish.

“I’m going home, Cas,” he said, trying to put steel into his voice. “I can’t impose on you guys like that. No way.”

Cas frowned, and Dean wished he didn’t find it as distracting as he did. “Dean, I believe the doctors and therapists have been quite clear; you cannot go home and care for yourself alone.” His voice was concerned, and another spike of guilt dug into Dean’s belly. 

_Dumbass… Can’t do anything right._ Anyway, Cas had been there every day, had seen the physical therapists, and had spoken to them, too. They’d been very clear. Dean shouldn’t go home alone, he needed someone around most of the time, just in case. That didn’t mean Dean had to believe them, though. “I’ll be fine. Hell, it’s not like I’ll have anywhere to go.”

“Very well.” Cas settled on the other open chair in the room, next to Sam. “I’ll let the nurses know where you prefer to discharge to. Sam, if you can take him home, I’ll pack a bag and be over shortly.”

“Woah woah, what?” Dean frowned. “What do you mean, pack a bag?” Dean didn’t even try to hide his incredulity. “Last time I checked, all my stuff was _already_ at my house.”

Cas chuckled. “Yes it is, Dean. But most of _my_ things aren’t, and I can hardly come and stay with you if I don’t have them.”

Dean could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Cas. No, you don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine, seriously. I’ve taken care of myself for years.”

“Yes you have,” Cas agreed mildly. “With two fully functional legs. Dean, right now you would not be able to get _into_ your house, let alone stay there for six weeks by yourself. I don’t want to give you ultimatums, but as it stands you really only have two options. Either come and stay with Sam, Jess and me, or I will come stay with you.”

Dean slumped. “Cas, man, I can’t ask you to do that. I mean, we’re not even contracted or anything!” Cas didn’t deserve to have his whole life upended just because Dean was a dumbass who got himself run over by a car. He’d done enough already, being at the hospital every day, coming for therapy and listening to the doctor’s explanations. It was too much to ask. 

Castiel smiled. It was a little sad, but he didn’t let it grow too melancholy. “Then it’s a good thing that I am _offering_. Dean, we don’t have to be contracted for me to care for you. Even if we weren’t _dating_ I would make this offer, because you are important to me. But you _are_ my boyfriend, and I will not let you struggle alone. Let me help you. Please.”

Sam was sitting quietly in the chair, not commenting, and Dean glanced at him once before letting out a long, slow breath. “You sure know how to woo a guy, Cas.” He offered his own tentative smile, nodding. “Alright. You win. If you’re serious about this, yeah. I’d… I’d appreciate the help.”

Sam stood up, blushing, like he wished he’d managed to escape before their little tiff, if it could even be called that. “Great! Well, I’ll go let the nurses know and, uh… Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, side stepping around Cas and out of the room. 

Cas chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as stubborn as you, Dean Winchester,” he said, standing to advance on his sub’s chair. With a wicked grin, he bent down to kiss Dean softly. As he straightened, he gently squeezed Dean’s shoulder. “That’s one of the things I love about you. Let’s get you home.”

Dean flushed, kiss tingling on his lips. “Yeah. That sounds good.”


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you so much for being so very patient with me, and for all the kind words after the last chapter! I know it's been a super long time since I posted last, real life has been a bear. I hope I can get back in the groove and maybe not make you all wait so long again!
> 
> As always, thanks to Lisa for cheer leading, betaing and butt kicking as necessary! You're awesome, lady!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Dare

“Well, shit.” Dean stared at the steps leading into his house. He knew there was no way he could manage the steps; he’d walked a few feet with the PTs so he could get to the bathroom, but steps? Fat chance. The walker wouldn’t even fit on them. “What the hell am I gonna do about those?”

Dean looked at his dom, hoping for inspiration. He’d pulled in just a few minutes after Dean and Sam, and he gave Dean a little smile. Getting the paperwork together to be discharged had taken longer than Dean expected, giving the other man time to get his bag together, and Dean was grateful. The insurmountable barrier the steps presented would be even worse without Cas.

Sam clapped a hand on Dean’s shoulder, startling him slightly. “Hey, it’s cool Dean. Me and Cas are here. We’ll get you up.” 

“Well, while I appreciate that, I’m not really sure what good it’ll do me…” Dean trailed off, looking at the steps leading up to his house. They might as well be a mountain, for all that he could climb them.

“I spoke to your physical therapist yesterday,” Cas said, setting his bag down on the ground next to Dean. “Since even coming to our house would have meant a few steps to get inside. They recommended that we bump your wheelchair up the steps. With one of us behind and the other in front, we should be able to lift you.”

Dean paled. “Dude, look… I might trust you both a whole hell of a lot, but no way. That is _not_ happening.” His brain was assaulted by an image of tipping forward out of the chair, crashing down the steps on top of Cas with Sam tumbling down after them. “There’s gotta be another way.”

“Not really.” Cas shook his head. “You can only bear minimal weight on the left leg, and certainly not enough to climb anything.” He grinned a little. “I suppose Sam and I could swing you up in a hand swing?”

“What?” Dean squawked. “Aww, hell naw. I may be broken, but I ain’t a _girl_ , Cas.”

Cas and Sam choked back laughter at his response, and Cas shrugged. “Well, that leaves the wheelchair lift, Dean.”

“Fuck.” Dean contemplated pushing to do it himself, but he knew how badly walking hurt; getting up those steps primarily by pushing with his leg? Gonna be way worse. He wasn’t gonna be carted up like a damsel in some romance novel, though, so he huffed out a sigh. “Alright. Fine. We’ll do it in the chair. But you _damn well_ better not drop me, y’ got it?”

“Yessir!” Sammy said with a mock salute, ignoring Dean’s glare. Carefully, he turned the wheelchair around and backed up to the steps. “Okay, Cas, you lift from the front. I’ll pull from the back. Dean, you keep your foot up and hold on tight.”

“Oh trust me, Sammy, I’m not letting go any time soon.” Dean’s voice was tight with anxiety, and his hands were white knuckling the arms of the wheelchair. “Let’s just do this, okay?”

“Okay. Count of three. One… Two… Three.” On three, Sam pulled back and Cas pushed up, and the chair rolled up one step. Dean bit back a yelp as the chair thumped up. “One… Two… Three.” They repeated the process five times, until Dean was finally up on the porch. “Told you we wouldn’t drop you!” Sam said, patting Dean’s shoulder.

Dean was clammy and fighting not to pant; he felt every minute of that hour he had left until his next pain pill. “Yeah yeah, just get me inside, Sammy.” 

Sam pulled the keys from his pocket; he’d gotten them earlier from Mal when he packed Dean’s things into the car. He opened the door, unsure what he’d been expecting from his brother’s house. Probably the cluttered, minimally furnished kind of place most bachelors he knew lived in. He definitely hadn’t expected what looked like a freaking book store cum auto repair shop. Most of the books he could see were pretty old, too. He let out a low whistle. “Wow. I thought mom’s library was impressive, but this is amazing, Dean.” 

Cas pushed Dean into the house with only a small bump as they passed over the threshold. Dean winced as the chair crunched over the salt line, _Damn,_ he thought. _That’s gonna be a pain in the ass to fix in this chair._

“Thanks,” Dean said absently, looking up at Sam. Shit. He hadn’t thought about someone else coming in again. Cas was one thing; he didn’t ask too many questions, and as far as Dean knew, hadn’t looked at many titles. Sam was a _lot_ more curious.

“We gotta reorganize you a little, Dean.” Sam glanced around the room; auto parts were stacked around piles of books, and they were all scattered on every flat surface. “Your walker will be here tomorrow and then you can start practicing, but you're gonna need space. You won’t be able to roll this chair around all these books. There just isn't room.”

“I know. Just… stack ‘em against the wall. _Gently!_ Some of them are pretty old.”

“You got it, Dean.” Sam picked up a stack of books from next to the couch and carried them to the wall, setting them down next to an umbrella stand full of fire pokers. “Dude, you got a fireplace? Are you holding out on us? Because it’s gonna be cold soon and a fire would be awesome.”

Dean snorted. “You see a chimney out there, Sammy? No… I picked those up at a garage sale. They’re great for camping.”

“Oh, you camp? That’s awesome! We’re planning a trip for spring break. Your leg should be better by then, at least enough to come out with us!” He paused, setting down a book and glancing at the title. _Les bêtes de la nuit_. Beasts of the night? The one beneath it had an English title; it looked old, like a Dicken’s novel. _A Guide to Identifying Those Creatures Which Are Not Of Our World._ The other titles in the stack were just as strange; some were in languages Sam had never seen before, others were practically falling apart. At least one looked like it was a compendium of rituals. The only other place he’d seen books like these were in Grandpa Campbell’s library. He glanced around the room, his eyes narrowing. Yeah, that _was_ a salt line by the door that they’d run over, and the iron pokers, too. He looked over at Cas, frowning.

Cas met his gaze, and then glanced over at the wall behind Dean. Sam followed the look, and spotted the glyphs on the wall. They were subtle, a dark brown on the darker brown of the wall, but they were definitely protection glyphs. Cas looked around at the salt lines, clearly seeing all the things Sam was, and gave a little nod of agreement.

“Dude. You’re a hunter?” The words spilled out before Sam could stop them, and he held the books up as proof. How could he have missed this? Usually other hunters were easy to spot; every hunter had a tell. So how come Dean didn’t?

Dean’s head shot up. “Woah, woah, guys… First of all… What the hell? How do you even know about hunters?”

“Sam told me,” Cas said. “After we had been living together for a while. Dean, please tell me you are not hunting alone. That is so very dangerous.” A small, traitorous part of him was actually _glad,_ right at that moment, that Dean was hurt. He couldn’t put himself in more danger if he couldn’t walk. The idea of Dean hunting some of the things Sam talked about, but alone, without backup? That was terrifying. He’d never wanted to be a hunter, but knowing Dean did it? He would be willing to finally learn to shoot, like Sam had been asking, if it meant he could help keep Dean safe. 

Dean frowned, and turned his attention to Sam like Cas hadn’t asked for reassurance. “Well how do _you_ know about hunters?” He couldn’t pay attention to Cas, not yet. John had always taken care to keep their work as secret as possible, and Dean had only met a handful of other hunters. So how the hell did Sam know what they did?

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, abashed. “Mom’s a hunter, too. Actually, her whole family is. I kinda grew up with it. I didn’t know John did, too.” He shrugged a little. “After we’d been living together for a while, I told Cas and Jess. I put off telling them, but when you periodically disappear for a long weekend to go hunt ghosts, well, it’s kinda important for people to know where to look for you.” He shrugged, but focused in on Dean again. 

“But seriously, dude. How come I haven’t seen you around? Not that there have been many things to investigate, but you don’t have a car, so you’ve gotta be hunting locally.”

“Of course not.” Dean’s voice was flat. It still hurt, after all this time, to have the reminder of what had been robbed from him. “ I’m a sub.” It was really unfair of Sam to make him say it out loud, that hurt worse than just knowing it.

“What?” Sam was baffled. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

Dean snorted. “You don’t have to play dumb with me, Sammy, okay? I get it. I know that it’s dangerous to let a sub into the field. Too unpredictable, too easily swayed. I’ve heard it plenty from John, so I don’t need you to pretend you haven’t.”

“Woah, woah dude.” Sam held his hands up placatingly. “Yeah, I’ve heard some of that shit in the hunter community, but it’s just that: bullshit. Grandma’s a kickass hunter, and she’s a sub.” He set the books down on the stack and headed toward Dean. “So if you aren’t actively hunting, what do you do?”Cas schooled his face to keep the look of surprise coupled with disgust from his face as he exchanged a glance with Sam. 

“I’m a research guy. When John hits a wall on a hunt, he gives me a call.” Dean puffed himself up, the false bravado palpable. “I might not be out there, in the field, but I do a damn good job.”

Sam nodded. “Of course! The research is fundamental to a successful hunt. Now that I know you have all these books, I’m sure I’m gonna be coming over to pick your brain. And once you’re back on your feet, I’d love to have you help me. Mom will be _thrilled_ to know I’ve got backup out here.”

“Look, can we maybe not talk about this now?” His head was spinning. He wasn’t sure he would ever be ready for this conversation, but sure as hell not now, with his pain meds waning and a headache starting. Desperate for a distraction, he reached into his pocket and pulled out some cash. “Look, I really hate to ask, but I’m stuck here, dude.” He let a fleeting grimace show, looking back up at his brother. “I’ve been in the hospital for like, a week and a half. I’m sure my fridge is a disaster area. Can you go pick me up some basics? Milk, eggs, maybe some frozen veggies and yogurt?”

Sam looked a little baffled at the sudden change of topic, but put it down to Dean not wanting to discuss hunting. He couldn’t blame him; it seemed like John’s sticky fingerprints were everywhere. He couldn’t imagine growing up with someone as wholly awful as the senior Winchester seemed to be. He reached out for the little bundle of bills, smiling reassuringly. “Uh, sure Dean,” he agreed, nodding. He shot a glance at Cas, hoping his friend could read his concern for Dean from his face. “Is there anything you want in particular?”

“Uh… Some brussel sprouts, if you can find them.” He grinned, only a little shaky. “After a surgery like that, I know my iron is low.”

Sam blinked, a little surprised. Brussel sprouts? Dean never seemed into vegetables when they ate together. He nodded again anyway; maybe this was just something else about Dean he didn’t know. “Right. Brussel sprouts. Ok, I’ll be back.” He glanced at Dean once as he left the house, but finally squared his shoulders and headed out. Questions could come later.

Dean and Castiel worked in silence for a few minutes, until they heard the door open and close behind Sam, and the car drive away.

“Brussel sprouts, Dean?” Cas raised an eyebrow at his boyfriend. “I thought you hated those ‘stinky baby cabbages’.” A small smile twitched on his lips as he remembered Dean’s vehement refusal of the vegetable of the day at Rosie’s one afternoon. His smile faded when Dean spoke.

“Well, yeah, but I _do_ need the iron, and we all gotta do things we don’t like, right?”

Cas’ brow furrowed at the defeat in Dean’s tone. “At times,” he answered carefully, with a nod. ”But we don’t have to volunteer. You could have asked Sam to pick you up a bottle of iron supplement.”

“Naw,” Dean said, shaking his head as he carefully wheeled up to the wall and set down a stack of books. “John says they’re too expensive. Anyway, I can choke down some brussel sprouts. It won’t kill me to eat a little bit of rabbit food.” He grinned up at Cas. “At least, I think it won’t.”

Cas shook his head fondly. He could tell Dean was trying to defuse the situation, so he filed the exchange away for later and carried his own stack over to the wall. “Well, let’s certainly hope not. I’ve got a lot of plans for you yet.”

Dean laughed, and his grin was a little more genuine, a little less brittle. “Good. I like the sound of that.”

\-----

Sam waited until he’d pulled out of Dean’s driveway before he slapped his hand hard on the steering wheel. “Goddamn asshole!” He growled, wishing he had a more productive outlet for his anger, like maybe John Winchester’s face. 

It burned him up how much more Dean could have done for himself if he hadn’t had poison rammed down his throat every damn day. He took a deep calming breath, then reached for his phone. Mary’s number was the first speed dial, and she answered on the second ring.

“Sam, what’s wrong honey?”

“Nothing mom,” he said, willing the anger out of his voice. “I wanted to let you know we got Dean home and settled. Cas is with him right now, I’m on a grocery run.”

“Oh, good!” His mother’s voice was relieved. “I’m so glad to hear that. I just wish he’d let me come out and stay for a little while... “

 

Sam huffed out a laugh at her familiar concern. “I know. mom,” he said, rolling to a stop at the light. “But trust me, it was hard enough getting him to agree to Cas staying with him. I don’t think he’d like you there, too. Dean… likes his space.”

“Yeah, I get that. But a mother worries, Sam. That’s all.” Sam could hear the familiar whirr of the mixer in the background, and he grinned.

“Do I hear your world famous peanut butter chocolate chip cookies mixing up there?” The cookies were as familiar as chicken soup when he was sick, and he hoped that Mary was planning on sending some to Dean.

“You caught me,” she said as the sound of the mixer. “I hope Dean likes them.”

“I’m sure he will.” Sam’s worries eased a little bit as he listened to his mother on the other end of the line. “Listen, mom… There’s something else you should know.”

“I don’t like the sound of that, Sam,” she said, the rhythmic click of her spoon against the metal wall of the mixer bowl replacing the whirr of the motor. “What’s going on now?”

Sam winced. She was always so perceptive. “No, no,” he said quickly. “Nothing bad. It’s just… When I helped Dean get home today, I found out something. John’s a hunter.”

“What?” There was a clatter from the other end of the phone, and Sam winced. ‘Damn it,” she muttered. Her words were muffled. “Oh, hang on,” she said. “I dropped you.” Sam concentrated on driving until she picked up the phone again. “I can’t believe that bastard! He told me he thought all that stuff was ‘nonsense’ when I tried to bring it up after we got married. So he raised Dean in the life? Why didn’t he say anything? How didn’t we _hear_ about it?”

“I dunno,” Sam admitted. “We _have_ been pretty stationary, for hunters.” He appreciated the fact that his mother had valued his traditional education as much as his non-traditional one. “Dean’s… not a hunter, though.” He sighed. “John convinced him that subs don’t hunt.”

Mary’s sound of frustration on the other end of the phone had Sam wincing again in empathy for the balls of cookie dough he was sure she was scooping a little enthusiastically out of the bowl. “That man. If I ever see his face again…”

“Yeah, I know. Me too.” Sam pulled in to the grocery store, setting his parking brake with a little more force than necessary. Thinking about John Winchester just made him want to hit something. “Listen, I’m at the store. I’ve gotta go, I don’t wanna leave Dean waiting too long. I’ll call you tonight, okay?”

Mary took a deep breath and let it out, her sigh hissing across the phone. “Alright. Sounds good. Thanks for calling, Sam. I love you. Tell your brother I said hi.”

“I will mom. Love you too. Bye.” 

Sam clicked off the phone and slid out of the car. He felt a lot better after talking to Mary, like her fury had muted his own a little. “Milk… eggs… Yogurt... “ He reviewed the list under his breath as he headed into the store. “And brussel sprouts. Huh. Weird.”  
\-----

After three days of well meaning but somewhat stifling support, Sam finally backed off a little and let Dean and Cas settle in on their own. Dean was surprised by how easily they’d fallen into a routine, moving easily around each other despite Dean’s mobility issues. Cas’ care still felt sweet, not smothering, especially since he made sure Dean got his pain pills the minute they were due. Cas in his bed was a welcome change too; despite his nightmares, it was good not to wake up in the dark alone. Tonight, he was sitting on the couch, with his leg propped to just the right height, while Cas dished up their pizza in the kitchen. His dom came in with their food, settling on the floor next to Dean and passing him a plate. “How’s your leg? Has your medicine kicked in yet?” 

“Uh, yeah, it’s better,” Dean said, flushing under the concern. “Down to a dull roar.” The scrutiny was disconcerting as it always was, and Dean deflected. “This smells great.” The pizza _was_ perfect, gooey and cheesy and covered in five kinds of meat. Heaven on a plate.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said wryly. “I have always been known for my phone-ordering skills, to say nothing of my box opening acumen.” He grinned, and nudged Dean’s hip gently with his head before taking a bite of the pizza. 

Dean laughed too, shaking his head. “Smart ass,” he said fondly, before taking a big bite of his own slice. He chewed, watching the back of Cas’ head confusedly for a moment, until he figured out what was bothering him. “Dude… Why are you sitting on the floor? I can scoot up, make some room.”

Cas arched his back to look up at him. “Thank you for the offer,” he said, then shook his head. “But we have just gotten you comfortable. I would rather not disrupt your leg right now. I’m fine on the floor.”

Dean shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Secretly, he was relieved. His leg still throbbed like a son of a bitch when it wasn’t elevated, and neither he nor Cas were really short enough to both fit on the couch if he had his leg up.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, watching television. Their Buffy marathon was well into its third day, something that had baffled Sam even though he'd watched with them willingly enough. Even though Dean didn’t like being confined to the couch, Buffy and Cas made it bearable, wrapping him in memories of comfort after their first Scene. And who couldn’t love a girl who could kick ass like that?

As the DVD spun over to the menu at the end of the episode, Cas set his plate aside and squirmed on the floor until he could face Dean. “So, Dean…” He reached for his sub’s hand, tangling their fingers together. “I’ve been thinking lately about us. We’ll be living together for a few more months yet.” He watched Dean’s face, choosing his words with care. “I thought now might be an ideal time to discuss another trial contract.”

Dean blinked, caught off guard. Cas had mentioned a longer contract, earlier, but that was before, well, everything. “Now?” He couldn’t help the incredulity in his voice. “Dude, maybe you didn’t notice, but my leg is broken. Not really ideal Scene material.” Not to mention how often he was hyped up on the pain drugs. 

“We certainly don’t need to Scene every day,” Cas retorted. “But if we had a permanent contract, then we would be linked even in the unlikely circumstance of something like this happening again.” He squeezed Dean’s hand, smiling at his shock. “And I must admit, I would very much like the ability to care for you without having to fight tooth and nail for the opportunity.” The kiss he laid on Dean’s fingers took some of the sting out of his words.

“I can take care of myself.” The words came out instinctively, and Dean flushed, regretting them immediately. 

“Of course you can.” Cas managed to keep his tone conciliatory, not condescending. “But sometimes you need, everyone needs, someone to take some of the burden. I’d like you to be that person for me. I would like to be that person for you.”

Dean looked away. “I’m not good at that,” he admitted, knowing it was probably the painkillers making him so free with his words. Cas probably knew that, too. Sneaky bastard. “Dude. Of course I’d help you! I mean, _I’m_ the sub here. I’m supposed to take care of _you_!”

Cas frowned a little bit, squeezing Deans hand. “Dean, we’re partners. We do for each other. This isn’t a one way street. Of course you will take care of me, I know that’s very important to you. I just want to be sure that we both know it goes both ways.”

“Yeah. Ok, I get that. I do… I’m just…” _Not worth it_ , John’s ever-present voice whispered poisonously in his head. _Stupid, clingy sub._

Cas squeezed his fingers again. “Nervous? I understand, I am too. I’ve never done something this serious before, and I care about you too much to want to risk us.” He met Dean’s eyes squarely, reaching his free hand up so he could gently turn Dean to face him again. “But, really, we have no better time than the present to try.” 

The word Cas chose was wrong, but Dean nodded anyway. “Yeah, all right,” he agreed. He still didn’t think he was going to be worth it for Cas, to be what his dom needed, but if his boyfriend wanted to try, Dean wasn’t going to say he didn’t. “I...honestly never thought I’d do this, with anyone. But I’m not gonna lie. I want to.”

The smile that broke across Cas’ face made that particular chick-flick moment worth it. “Wonderful! Do you feel up to starting now?”

“Well… What do we need to do?”

Cas turned and stretched, careful not to let their fingers slip apart, snagging the notebook from the edge of the coffee table. “Like we did before, we start by talking. Likes, dislikes, limits… The difference will be, we want to address some more long term concerns as well.”

He leaned back against the couch, pulling his knees up so he had a surface to write on, and reluctantly released Dean’s hand. “The basis of our contract will be very similar to our last one,” he explained as he began to date the sheet and write an introduction. “I am going to set us a period of three months, with the option of dissolution by either of us at any time, provided it is discussed with the other partner beforehand. Do you agree?”

“Uh, sure, yeah, that’s fine.” Dean shrugged a little. Privately he thought it was a lot more likely that Cas would want out than that he would, but he wasn’t going to push. If his dom wanted an out, he wasn’t going to tell him no; that wasn’t a sub’s place.

Cas dutifully wrote the sentence, and then looked up at Dean. “I know we don’t want a twenty four hour relationship; you’ve mentioned your discomfort with that kind of an arrangement, and it doesn’t really appeal to me, either.” He paused, watching Dean carefully. His boyfriend, he knew, was fond of writing in subtext that didn’t exist, usually to his own detriment. Satisfied with the interested, if slightly confused, look on Dean’s face, he continued. “However, I think both of us would benefit if we had each of our expectations for household maintenance written out explicitly. Do you agree?”

“Expectations for what?” If they weren’t in a twenty four seven relationship, which, really, Dean knew he didn’t want, what were they even talking about? It wasn’t like he didn’t already know how to manage a house, or whatever. He frowned, shifting a little on the couch so he could face Cas a little better. “I mean, I know how to cook and clean and shit.”

“Well, yes, Dean, of course you do.” Cas shook his head. “And so do I. If this is to be an equal partnership, neither of us should have primary responsibility for the household. We both have important things we do with our time, and neither of us, right now, would manage well at home all the time.”

He turned around further so he could lean against the coffee table. “This is just a preliminary contract, of course. We don’t have to be perfect, and we can revisit whenever we want. But I’d like you to have a voice in it as well, and for us to feel out our preferences. For example, I excel at washing clothes.” He grinned, gesturing to himself with one hand. “Artists have to, or else we would quite frequently need a new wardrobe.”

Dean barked out a chuckle. “Yeah, I’ve seen you after you come home from the studio, you’re a terror to laundromats everywhere.” He grinned, relaxing a little bit and nodding. “Okay, so I can see how that’s fair. What about like, a fifty fifty split? I cook, you clean up, that kinda thing? I mean, it’ll be a little harder until I get cleared to walk on this leg, but the concept’s sound, right?”

“Yes, definitely.” Cas was heartened that Dean seemed to be taking an active role, more than before. He took down a few notes, sketching out a basic plan. “Anything else?”

“What about my leg?” Dean hated to be a whiner, but he didn’t want to be seen as not pulling his own weight. “I mean, I can still do some stuff but, I just…”

“Dean,” Cas said gently. “Don’t worry. I would never expect you to do more than is safe. That part of our contract doesn’t really apply to our circumstances right now.” His chest hurt to think that Dean expected he would still have to do most of the household chores even injured as he was. What kind of a man, he asked himself once again, was Dean’s father? “And even when you are better, it will be flexible. I’m sure there will be days you come home from work and I do more than ‘my share’,” he flexed his fingers in quotes with a wry grin, “because you appear tired, or times I return from a show and you do the same for me. Give and take, Dean.”

“Sorry,” Dean said reflexively, shifting and fiddling with his blanket. "I told you I wasn’t good at this stuff."

“It’s fine.” Cas fought the urge to tell Dean to stop apologizing; he knew that would only ramp his boyfriend’s anxiety up. “You’re doing very well.”

Dean tugged the blanket up a little bit, but seemed to relax at the praise. “Okay. So what’s next?” Cas could hear the slight brittleness in Dean’s tone, but accepted that he was ready to continue. 

“Now we discuss Scenes. We can build off of some of our previous contract, but… It is important that we make decisions regarding safe words, limits, that sort of thing.” He knew that Dean didn’t like talking about any of his limits. For some reason, he seemed to think he shouldn’t have _any_ , which bothered Cas intensely. 

“Right.” Dean spoke flatly, his eyes narrowed just a little. His interest plummeted. What was the point of talking about this stuff? “Look, can’t we just skip this part? No hitting. We’re good. You know that already.” His stomach rolled uncomfortably. He didn’t want to talk about this; there were too many traps and holes in a discussion like this. 

“No.” Cas’ voice was firm, and he shook his head. “I know that you have more limits than that, Dean, things that would make you uncomfortable, to say the least. For our relationship to be successful, we will need to address all these things.” 

Dean was quiet, picking at the edge of his blanket for a long moment. “Do we have to do this now?” He couldn’t meet Cas’ eyes, see the disappointment there. This was what what he’d been afraid of; he wasn’t what Cas needed. Cas deserved a sub willing to talk about this. Hell, Dean would be happy if Cas just wrote down ‘no hitting’, and moved on.

“No, of course not.” Cas’ voice was gentle still, though he didn’t set the pen down. “We have plenty of time, if you don’t feel up to it now.” He reached for Dean’s fingers with his free hand, squeezing gently where they were tangled in the blanket. “Or if you’d rather, I can tell you some of my limits. We can go from there?”

“If you want,” Dean said, trying to push aside the pain in his chest. Everything felt tight and surreal; the pain meds made everything fuzzy and a little disconnected, and now he just felt like Cas was going to leave him. Why wouldn’t he? He couldn’t even _discuss_ a contract. How the hell was he supposed to live one?

Cas’ concern almost hurt, how he was willing to put what he wanted aside just because Dean was uncomfortable. _You don’t deserve this,_ John’s voice whispered. _You’re never going to have a contract. You’re too broken._ He shifted backward, hunching his shoulders. It wasn’t fair. Things this good always hurt worst when they were taken away.

“Pretty.” How had everything gone south so fast? Dean was curling up against the back of the couch, and Cas shifted quickly to kneel up beside him. “Pretty, hey…” He kissed Dean’s forehead. “It’s alright. We can put it aside if you’d like. We have part of it done, we can come back to it any time we like.”

“I want to, damn it,” Dean said, clenching the blanket in his fist; he couldn’t bring himself to look up at Cas. “I want to have a contract, and be yours, and I just… _Goddamn it!_ ” He slapped his thigh, hissing in pain as his leg spasmed under the impact. “Why the hell can’t I do it?” He finally looked up, blinking back angry tears. “Why the hell do you even put up with me? John was right... I’m so fuckin’ useless.”

Cas was startled by the anger, and he shook his head a little. There they were, finally in the thick of it. It came back to John, like it always did. This was good though; he was so proud of Dean for getting _angry_ instead of depressed. Even though he was angry at himself, well, they could redirect that.

“You’re not,” he said, shaking his head. “You have done a great deal recently, for myself and for others. I’m sure that Mal would say you are quite useful.” He smiled and squeezed Dean’s hand. “Do you feel up to trying to talk about it? I think you would be surprised at how much more comfortable you’ll feel if we’re both on the same page.”

Dean took a ragged breath. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah. Could… Could I have some water, or something? I think I need some water.”

Cas bit back a grin; it was so good to hear Dean asking for something he needed, even as simple as a little space and a glass of water. “Of course.” He dropped another kiss on Dean’s head, then stood. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, heading into the kitchen.

Cas packed away the remains of the pizza and washed their plates, setting them in the drain to dry. Pouring a glass of water from the pitcher that was in the fridge he headed back to the sofa. His head was spinning with all the things he wanted to talk to Dean about. He stopped dead and an affectionate smile stretched his lips. Dean was fast asleep on the sofa. He looked so relaxed when he slept. His face bore none of the worry lines that seemed to have a permanent residence on a face that was almost too beautiful to look at.

He set the glass down on the table and walked softly over to his sleeping sub. Cas covered him with the light blanket that was on the back of the sofa. He let out a small sigh as he looked from Dean to the walls of ancient texts lining his walls.

“Maybe it’s a good time to get to know you a bit better.” He ran his hand lightly over the tips of Dean’s hair so as not to wake him. He’d had trouble sleeping the past three nights, so this was a blessing.

He moved toward the first pile of books, right next to a selection of auto parts that were completely foreign to him. That was his Dean, a study in contradictions. So much intelligence that he tried to hide behind a rough and tumble facade.

“You are so much better than you think,” Cas whispered, “but we’re going to change that.”

Dean let out a soft snore in response.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!!! First I'd like to say I'm so, so, so sorry this has taken me so long. I signed up for a fic challenge, and anticipated it being a bubbly cute little bit of fluff, and it ended up over 25k and basically stealing my life. So. Sorry!!!
> 
> To forewarn you, I'm also signed up for the DCBB which may eat some of my life until about August or so (which is when my complete draft is due). I will do my very bestest not to leave you all hanging, though, and to get on a writing schedule that will keep everyone happy. :)
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you to all of you who left comments on the last chapter. It's so great to know that people still like and are following this monster of a story. Thanks also to Lisa, who beta'd this chapter and helps me polish all the stuff I send out to you. You're the best, Lisa!
> 
> Here's the next chapter, I hope you all enjoy it very much and I hope it makes up a little bit for the wait!
> 
> <3 <3,
> 
> Dare

The sharp _snap_ of a circuit overloading and the accompanying hiss of pain drew Cas to the kitchen door. "God damn it!" Dean swore, hurling the offending piece of circuitry to the floor. It clattered under the couch as Dean sucked his burned fingertip into his mouth.

"I'm so fucking useless," he muttered, unaware of his dom hovering in the doorway watching worriedly. "Can't even fix a stupid EMP reader." 

Hearing the familiar self deprecation starting up, Cas came forward to make himself known. "Do you need me to pick your circuit board up, Dean? I heard you drop it." He kept his voice purposely mild, not wishing to inflame his boyfriend's frustration any further. Unfortunately, Dean was deep in his own head, and his eyes shot up at the gentle tone. 

“No.” He took in the familiar deep breath he used to self-calm. “I threw it, I’ll pick it up.”  His voice trembled slightly.

Cas was beginning to recognize the tremor as a sign of frustration overload in his sub. “If you don't want to finish now, you can do it later," he kept his voice soothing, "besides the fact that you need to not be trying to get on the floor to fish something from under the sofa!" It was a light admonishment but it wasn't lost on Dean.

“I can’t fuckin’ fix it anyway, because I’m too damn useless. Can’t even solder a stupid circuit without fuckin’ it up.”

“Dean, you know that’s not true.” Cas took a slow step toward Dean, his mind already skipping ahead to what he might be able to do, since they'd finalized their contract the night before. “You are a very capable man and you have a great deal to offer the world.”

Dean rolled his chair back, shaking his head. “You have to say that, you’re my dom.” His voice was still flat, and Cas straightened up. This could not be allowed to continue. 

“Pretty. Please go wait for me in the bedroom.” His tone was formal; this was the first time he’d invoked this part of their contract. Despite his nerves, a sense of calm washed over him. He could see Dean was crawling out of his skin; his sub needed taking down, and it was Cas’ job to take care of him. 

“What?” Dean’s eyes widened in surprise. “No. I’m busy out here.” He didn’t safeword, though, and Angel took that to be an agreement.

“Pretty, I’m not asking you right now. We discussed and agreed; if I feel, when we are home, that this is what you need, you will obey. You know your safeword, if you truly need it. Are you going to?”

Dean hesitated. He wasn’t sure what Angel had in mind, but he trusted his dom. Even if it was terrifying. “No,” he admitted after a moment, fighting the urge to hunch his shoulders under the weight of Angel’s assessing gaze.

“No what?” Angel’s voice was firm, unrelenting, and Pretty finally met his eyes.

“No, Angel, I don’t need to safeword.”

Angel smiled at the agreement, and stepped closer. “Thank you, Pretty. Now please wait for me in the bedroom. I’m going to turn off the stove and I’ll join you in a moment.” He knew how important it was for Pretty to have a moment to himself to gather his thoughts. 

He waited to hear the wheels of the wheelchair start rolling across the floor before he returned to the kitchen and began to shut dinner off. It could wait; Pretty’s mental wellbeing couldn’t. He took his time, but didn’t linger too long, because he didn’t want Pretty to work himself into a tizzy, either.

In the bedroom, Pretty sat with his eyes downcast and his shoulders hunched. Angel stepped through the door and closed it firmly behind himself. “What are your safewords?” He was gratified to see Pretty’s head snap up. Their eyes met firmly, and Pretty drew a deep breath.

“Ghost, shotgun and Impala.” He spoke with more confidence than he had when he’d chosen them, which was very reassuring for Angel.

"Good." Angel advanced on Pretty, keeping his movements light and nonthreatening, even as he purposely put himself in his sub's space. "And when will you use your safewords, Pretty?"

"If I feel overwhelmed or frightened, if I need to stop or slow down." He sounded like the admission pained him, but Angel just nodded and leaned into kiss his lips softly. 

"Very good. Take off your shirt for me, Pretty."

Pretty swallowed, but obediently pushed his flannel off his shoulders. His tee shirt followed, and he flushed when his dom's hungry gaze honed in on his chest, and the silver piercings there. He looked aside, his hands clenching on his pant legs, as Angel stroked his chest.

"I thought I saw these," he said, running a finger around one of the barbells and then looking up to meet Pretty's eyes. "How old are they?"

"Three months, give or take," Pretty answered, still not quite meeting Angel's gaze.

"Pity," Angel said, stroking a finger tenderly around the other side. "Not quite healed enough to play with yet." He lifted his hand, hovering over his chest for a moment. "I'm sure they make you very sensitive."

Pretty nodded. "Yeah... I..." He swallowed. "I actually got them not long before I met you. I thought... Doms told me before they thought I'd look good with them. I wanted to... I don't know. It's stupid."

"I'm sure it isn't." Angel had let his hand drop, but he didn't step out of Pretty's space. "Anything this permanent wasn't undertaken lightly."

Once again Pretty marvelled at how Angel seemed to know him, seemed to understand instictively how he thought. "No. I thought maybe, if I had a dom, he would want me pierced. And I... I wanted to do something for him. For you, but I didn't know it yet." 

"I see." Angel smiled reassuringly. "Well, I do love them. They are beautiful. And perhaps, when they are healed, I'll buy you a new pair, from me... But that is for another day." He chuckled and stepped back a little. "Would you like help to get in the bed, or can you do it yourself?"

He could see Pretty struggling with the option, but finally dropping his head. "I need some help. My shoulders are pretty sore today."

Angel's smile broadened as he stepped up. "Of course, Pretty." He pressed a kiss to his boyfriend's forehead. "I'm so proud of you for asking for what you needed." He fussed with the wheelchair for a moment, letting Pretty support his bad leg while he swung the leg rest aside. "Alright, just as Jennifer showed us..." He was very grateful for their occupational therapist, who had ensured that he would be able to help with any transfers that Pretty needed. It came in very helpful now.

Between the two of them it was the work of a moment to pivot Pretty to the bed, and Angel stepped back into his space before he let him lie down. "Mm..." He nuzzled under his jaw, kissing softly and grinning at the small gasp. "You smell good. I'm going to take your pants off now... Stand up for me."

Pretty blinked, staring a little before he once again put his hands on his dom's shoulders and pulled up to stand. Angel made quick work of the tie on his sweats, shoving them down along with his boxers before pulling Pretty into another kiss, this one deeper and more intense. "There you go," he murmured as he pulled back. "Sit down and I'll get them off all the way.'

Pretty blushed. "I can do it myself," he said petulantly, because Jennifer had taught him to do that, too, but Angel just stroked the inside of his thigh gently. 

"Of course you can," he agreed mildly. "But I would like to do it for you, this time." Pretty subsided, and Angel knelt beside him. First he slid his shoe off, then pulled the pants off his legs and over the cast carefully. He grinned wickedly up at Pretty and then leaned in close. Taking his time, Angel began to kiss his way up Pretty's legs, toward his groin, until Pretty started to squirm.

"Angel, Angel, no." 

"What's wrong?" He spoke between kisses, alternating legs and continuing his inexorable climb toward the soft skin of his thighs.

He swallowed, a blush flushing over his cheeks. "You don't... You shouldn't do... Isn't that my job?"

Angel raised an eyebrow. "I believe it is up to me what is and isn't your job, isn't it, Pretty?" He stroked his hands firmly across the smooth skin of Pretty's legs, careful of the bruises still spreading out from under the cast, coloring his legs purple and green. 

"Y-yes, Angel," he agreed, though he sounded far from convinced. Further words were silenced by Angel kissing up to the crease of his hip again. He gasped, leaning back onto his hands and wordlessly spreading a little wider. He'd never felt something like this before. His other partners, dom or sub, he'd always been more concerned about their pleasure than his own.

Angel pulled away again, teasing. "I want you to lie down, Pretty." He tenderly lifted Pretty's injured right leg; the left wasn't hurt as badly, and the cast was easier to manipulate. It took a moment for Pretty to fathom a response, but then he squirmed back until he could lie on the pillows.

Angel crawled onto the bed, and Pretty lifted his hands up desperately. "Angel," he said, catching his dom's shirt. "Please... I wanna touch you." He tugged on the tee, drawing a rough chuckle from his dom.

"You beg so sweetly for me," he said fondly, leaning down to press a kiss to Pretty's lips before pulling back and tugging his shirt off. Pretty's hands found his shoulders immediately, running up and down his arms and across his chest.

"Lie still now," Angel said, grinning as he lowered himself on his arms to begin peppering kisses along Pretty's abs. "You're so lovely," he murmured, drawing his tongue along the well defined muscles there. "So perfect for me. Just let go and feel, Pretty. Talk to me if you need to, but... Lie still."

Pretty clenched his hands in the comforter obediently, fighting the urge not to arch up as Angel's teasing nibbles and kisses drew ever closer to his groin. By the time his dom was unrolling a condom, Pretty had lost the wherewithal to even question where it had come from. 

He couldn't help himself and arched with pleasure when tight, wet heat surrounded him. Even through the condom's barrier, it was like nothing he'd ever felt before. Warm, calloused hands held him down firmly to the bed as their master continued sucking and licking.

"Ah-ah-Angel," Pretty gasped, his hands clenching rhythmically on the bedspread. "Angel I'm not..." He lost track of time. Each moment he felt for sure he'd come, that the wave would finally crest, Angel backed off. He'd trail fingers and kisses up his belly, trace a wide berth around his nipples. He lost track of the sweet nothings whispered in his ear while tight, _perfect_ fingers clenched around his cock.

Eventually, he felt himself relaxing back into the bed, floating. Angel was there, telling him how good he was, how perfect. There was nothing in him that could convince him not to believe his dom. The desperation had waned to a slow burn. He wouldn't be coming until Angel said he could, and that was right. It felt good to do what his dom wanted.

"You've been such a good boy, Pretty, so good for me... You're so beautiful. So strong and capable, but you let me take you apart..." Angel tightened his grip, twisting his hand a little just to see Pretty writhe under his touch. 

"I'm going to suck you again, Pretty," Angel said as he slid down the bed. "Come whenever you need to. I want to see it... I want to see you let go." 

And then the tight, wet, hot was back, and Pretty arched his back. It was better than before, after all the anticipation. He didn't last long, just a few more moments before he was crying out and writhing, perfect touches skating along his inner thighs as the suction around his cock increased. One finger traced the rim of his ass, though it didn't penetrate. The promise of _one day_ was enough to make it that much better.

He came down to float on soft pillows. Distantly he felt Angel pull the condom off and wipe him clean with... Something, but he didn't have the energy to open his eyes to see what it was. Then Angel curled up beside him. 

"You can move, Pretty," he murmured, kissing his throat. "You were so good. So perfect like that, letting me see you... So very, very good."

Pretty's hands came up and clutched at Angel's shoulders. He was sure if he didn't, he'd float away. But Angel pulled him back just as close, and kept stroking his hair and kissing his throat, and somehow everything just felt right. 

Pretty floated, Angel's arms anchoring him, like a kite, flying free but tethered to Earth. He came back to himself slowly, Angel still murmuring sweet nothings in his ear. All at once he remembered, and he twisted, uncautious. He hissed as he jostled his leg, though the endorphins flooding his veins helped a little. 

Angel arched, surprised. "Easy, Pretty, easy... What's wrong?"

Shame flooded him. "I'm such a bad sub," he whispered, hoarsely. "You took such good care of me and I didn't... I didn't do anything for you." His hand moved tentatively to Angel's groin. He pulled back, startled, at the cold wet sensation on his dom's pants. 

When he dared to meet Angel's eyes again, they sparkled with mirth. "Did you think that was only intense for you, Pretty?" He shook his head fondly. "I haven't seen something so arousing in... A very long time."

His cheeks burned still, and Pretty licked his lips. "I didn't... I didn't _do_ anything, though." 

"Of course you did," Angel said, his hand returning to soothing strokes up and down his bare abdomen. "You gave yourself to me so beautifully. Of course I was moved." He pressed another kiss to Pretty's neck.

"Next time, I promise, I'll involve you more directly." He shifted a little, and slid his hand up to stroke through Pretty's hair. "Do you feel better?"

Pretty relaxed a little and hummed, nuzzling under Angel's chin. "Yeah. I... I don't know how you did that, man, but yeah. I do."

Angel smiled and kissed his forehead. "Good. I'm glad. Will you be alright if I get something to clean us up and something to drink?"

Pretty clung for a moment, but he was itchy from sweat, and his leg was starting to throb. He nodded. "Can I... Do we have any gatorade?"

Angel pulled back and kissed Pretty's lips before disengaging and sliding out of bed. "Yes, we do. I'll be right back." He moved awkwardly, his pants sticking to his groin, and Pretty flushed, watching him go. A few minutes later the sound of the sink running reached him, and when Angel came back, he was naked, carrying a bottle in one hand and a damp cloth in the other. 

Pretty's face flamed again. He hadn't really expected that the first time he'd see his dom naked would be like this. Not that he'd put much thought into how he _would_ see his dom naked, but it was the point of the thing. 

Angel was lean and solid, every inch of him begging to be touched and tasted. Pretty's mouth watered, and he wondered if he'd ever be allowed to do that, just... explore, until _Angel_ was begging for it. He shoved that thought aside. No self-respecting dom would let that happen, and Angel was too good a dom for that anyway.

"You look like you're thinking heavy thoughts, Pretty," Angel said, settling on the edge of the bed.

"Just... thinking," he said, shivering as Angel began to clean him with solid, warm strokes. After he was cleaned to Angel's satisfaction, he crawled back up the bed and urged Pretty to sit with him.

"Care to share?" He asked, cracking open the sports drink and holding it to his lips.

Pretty sipped, his head pillowed on Angel's shoulder, considering. "Not now," he said finally, curling close and letting Angel's warmth seep into him. It felt even better skin to skin, and if he let himself, he could feel that floating sensation creeping up on him again.

"Fair enough." Angel happily pulled him close again, stroking his back as he slowly fed him the gatorade. 

Pretty floated for a while, like he had the last time they Scened together. Knowing that his dom was pleased, that he'd done well, was like a balm to his anxious mind. He sipped the gatorade and let Angel keep whispering sweet nothings.

Finally, though, the room began to chill and Angel nudged him. "Alright, Dean... I need you to come back to me." His voice was low and soothing, but the use of his other name was stil jarring, at least a little.

Dean blinked sleepily. "Cas?" His head felt muzzy, but it was still safe. Cas was here, after all.

"Yes, I'm here." Cas leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Dean's lips. "I think it's time for dinner. Do you want to get dressed and come back out, or should I go and finish cooking and bring it in here?"

Dean bit his lip. He really didn't want to be alone; he wanted to cling to Cas and not let him go. His stomach rumbled, though, and he had to make a decision. The idea of getting dressed again, and all the energy it would take just to get back in the chair, exhausted him.

"I'll stay here," he said. "Hurry back, though..." He smiled a little, trying to hide how insecure it felt to be without Cas right then. "It's cold in here."

Cas seemed to be equally reluctant to move away, but finally did, rolling out the other side and then quickly but tenderly propping Dean's leg better on a stack of pillows and tucking Dean under the blankets. "I will. Dinner will be ready shortly; I just have to finish heating the sauce and boil the pasta." He pulled Dean's sweats on, leaving his shirt off, and bent for one quick kiss. "I'll be back soon."

He knew he still wasn't the best cook, but with Dean's tutelage he'd been able to master at least a hamburger helper without burning it. He headed into the kitchen, his ears tuned for any sound of distress from the bedroom. His mind wandered, a little, while he waited for the water to boil. The Scene had gone so much better than he'd expected. Dean had Dropped for him so beautifully, and he'd looked so much more relaxed when he came back up.  
He itched to ask Dean about the scars he'd seen on his torso and sides, but knew better than to push while Dean was so vulnerable. He stirred the sauce idly, wondering what the scars could be from. Sam might know, might have a better idea at least, but the very thought of broaching such a private topic without Dean's knowledge made him shudder.

Pasta was easy, mechanical, and soon he had two bowls of the so called 'beef stroganoff', though it really didn't resemble any stroganoff Cas had ever had. He put the leftovers away and grabbed two bottles of water before heading back to the bedroom. "I'm back," he announced, unnecessarily. Dean was clearly paying more attention to the doorway than to the book in his hand.

"Oh good. I'm starved." Dean squirmed up the bed to a better sitting position, setting the book aside. "Gimme."

Cas chuckled. "Manners, Dean," he chided mildly, but passed the bowl over without complaint. He set his own bowl down so he could push his sweats off before he climbed back into bed. While it had been extraordinarily powerful feeling to still be clothed while Dean was naked earlier, now it just felt strange. And he didn't want to miss a moment of skin-to-skin contact.

He dug into his own bowl after he'd settled under the covers, and Dean grinned at him. "Hey, this is pretty good," he said, nudging him with an elbow. "You're figurin' it out. Good job."

"Thank you, Dean," Cas said, flushing with pleasure at the compliment. "I have a very good teacher." They ate in silence for a while, and Cas could see Dean starting to droop by the time he put aside his bowl. "Would you like me to read to you?"

Dean looked up in surprise. "I... You don't have to do that." No one had read to him since he was four. _Want_ rolled through him suddenly. Cas' voice was so soothing, and now that the endorphins were wearing off, he was so tired. He knew that listening to Cas' deep rumble would put him right to sleep.

"That's not what I asked, Dean," Cas said patiently. It hurt his heart that his beautiful Dean still thought in terms of 'have to' and 'ought to' when it came to himself. "Would you like me to read to you?" He purposely left off how very pleased it would make him to comfort his sub like that. He wanted Dean to make the choice for something he wanted without feeling pressured by his dom's desires.

Dean hesitated for a moment, but finally he nodded. "Yeah. I... I would like that." He reached to the bedside table, passing the book over to Cas. 

Cas smiled brightly. "Wonderful!" He kissed Dean's temple, and then shifted to get comfortable. "Make yourself comfortable, Dean," he urged, glancing over the words to get used to them. 

Dean obeyed, squirming until he was comfortable, with his head on Cas' chest, wrapped around his dom. He thought it should feel strange, lying tucked against someone's side like that, but instead it just felt warm.

Cas cleared his throat and started to read and Dean let his eyes drift closed. For the third time that day, he let himself float.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What a difference three days could make. Since his Scene, he hadn't felt that twitch, that urge to throw things, or just... run until he couldn't anymore. Cas was... some kind of a miracle worker.  
He hadn't felt so loose or relaxed since the days when John still gave him daily workouts to push the teenage angst out of his bones.

Dean hummed as he sat in the kitchen, washing potatoes. He could _just_ reach the sink from the wheelchair, so it was good to know he wasn't totally useless. He finished rinsing the last one and dropped it into the bowl on his lap, then rolled over to the table to start cutting them.

"Sammy damn well better appreciate this potato salad," he muttered to himself as he reached for his knife. He coudn't grill with the angle his leg had to stay at, so he'd reluctantly given that honor over to Sammy for the night. He _could_ make a damn good potato salad, though, and a kickass apple pie, if Cas ever got back with the ingredients.

Gravel crunched outside a few minutes later, as the car pulled into the drive. Dean dreamed of one day getting it paved, but that wasn't happening any time soon.The sound of the door opening pricked his ears, and he grinned. "Hey babe," he called out, not looking up from his knife. "I'm in the kitchen... Did you get the stuff?"

Heavy footsteps came through the living room, and Dean only had time to glance up before a lbook was slammed onto the table in front of him. The knife jumped in his grip, slicing into his left hand as it skated off the potato he was cutting. His hiss of pain was forgotten as he stared up, not at Cas, but at John Winchester.

"Well well, what do we have here?" He looked over his son with disdain. " You a cute little house sub now, boy? Finally find a dom willing to put up with your sorry ass?"


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. It's been a while. So so sorry folks, I've been sidetracked, between my big bang, real life, and packing for Australia!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter. I'll be replying in person sooner or later, but know that you all make me so happy, and it's such an encouragement to hear from all of you! This story wouldn't still exist if it weren't for all of you!
> 
> Thanks, as always, to Lisa for the fabulous beta. Wouldn't be the same fic without you!
> 
> Without further ado folks, the next chapter!

Dean's breath caught in his throat, his heart beating a hundred miles an hour. John was here. He hadn't seen his father in over five years, and now he was just... here? The sting of the of the cut across his palm finally broke through his panic.

“What're you doing here?” He managed, dropping his knife onto the table. He clenched his hand tightly, the blood climbing up his palm and dripping down into the potatoes. He couldn't bring himself to look at John, so he stared at the red drops splattered across the white chunks. It was mesmerizing. He wanted to throw up.

“What am I doing here? You wouldn’t even be here without me! It might as well be my house! I can show up whenever I damn well please!” He yanked a chair out and dropped down across from Dean, not bothering to hide a sneer. “But really I could be asking you the same question. ” He snorted, and reached a foot out to knock it against Dean's cast, huffing out a laugh when Dean cried out.

“Look at you! Managed to break your leg staying at home. I knew there was a reason I didn't bother bring you with me. You'd have been useless.” He leaned back in the chair, looking Dean up and down. “And what the hell are you doing here, anyway, playing house? I thought I told you when I left not to let anyone in here.”

Dean's heart was still rabbiting in his chest, the pain in his hand and in his leg throbbing in time. “I didn't mean to,” he said after a moment, swallowing hard. “I just... it just happened.”

“It just happened,” John parroted mockingly. “Yeah, just happened, you spread your legs for the first dom willing to wet his willie with you. You do like dick, don't you?” He pushed back from the table and crossed the room to the refrigerator, pulling out a beer and popping the cap open. “At least tell me it's just the one, and you're not giving it up to a whole basketball team again, like you did in high school.”

Dean swallowed a wave of nausea at that. John knew? He'd heard Kale and the boys and he'd just... let it happen? He swallowed miserably. “Don't... Don't talk about him like that,” he said, anger on Cas' behalf pushing through his nausea. “It's not like that.” Of course it _had_ been like that. Wasn’t that what subs were for?

“Yeah, yeah. You managed to con some dom into moving in here to be your sugar daddy while you're all fucked up. I get it, Dean, I do. You can't hack it on your own, always gotta have a dom to fall back on.” He took a long draw from the beer, shaking his head.

“Stop it!” Dean's hands shook, and he wheeled backwards a little bit, until he could grab the tea towel on the counter he'd used to dry his hands with earlier. He clenched it in his fist, hissing as the movement pulled the skin apart again.

“Yeah, I don't think so, Dean,” John said. “I need somewhere to lay low. Too bad you're broken, can't even make yourself useful and do my clothes for me while I'm waiting.”

Neither man heard the sound of the car pulling in, Dean unable to hear over the beat-beat-beat-beat of his heart in his ears, John simply dismissive of anyone else's presence. “So it _is_ just the one guy, right Deano?” He took another swig of his beer. “I mean, does he _know_ you're kind of a slut? I feel like that's important information. He should know... Let the buyer beware, that kind of thing.”

Dean drew a shaky breath. _You're not a slut_ he told himself, though he couldn’t believe it. John's words struck deep, as they always did. “That's none of your business.” He swallowed. “I think you should go before Cas gets home.”

John laughed again. “Cas, huh? I don't think so, Deano.” He leaned against the counter again, watching his son with a mean glint in his eye. “I've gotta have someplace to lay low, like I said... And you can do some translations for me while I'm here.”

“I don't believe he was asking.” Cas' cold voice cut across the room like a winter wind. “You have out stayed your welcome, John Winchester. Leave. Now.” His eyes cut to Dean, and his heart skipped a beat. That was blood... Why was there blood?

“Oh, are you the chump? Damn, Deano, couldn't even pick a dom with some meat on his bones? Scrawny little dude, isn't he?”

“Leave. Now.” Cas' voice was still icy. “Or I will call the police and have you removed.”

“You can't do that.” John put down his beer. “This is _my_ house, _my_ rules!” He turned to face Cas. “How long you been screwing my son, hmm?” He laughed again, low and mean. “Sure hope you got yourself checked... My Dean has never been too choosy with his partners.”

Dean's stomach clenched again. Lies! He wanted to call John out on it, tell him that he hadn't wanted Kale, hadn't wanted _any_ of them, but he bit his tongue. Cas wouldn't want him after that. Not after he heard for sure what a slut Dean had been. After all, he'd always carried a knife, hadn't he? _Must have wanted it at least a little_. The poisonous thought slid through despite Dean's best attempt to quash it. _Cas won't want you once he knows what you really are,_ that voice said again.

"The people in Dean's life before me are not a topic of conversation. Leave. Now." Cas straightened his spine. "You are not welcome here."

John pushed away from the counter, advancing on Cas dangerously. "And who the fuck are you to tell me to get out of my own house, hmm, boy?" He pushed up his sleeves, and Dean's heart dropped.

"Cas, no, it's okay," he said, dropping the cloth to try and wheel between the two of them. John reached out and shoved Dean, sending the chair rolling backwards into the counter. Dean yelled in pain as his leg was jolted, and he took a deep shaking breath as he tried to move past the pain.

"Stay out of this, slut," John said venomously before turning his attention back to Cas. "Well? You didn't answer me, boy. Who the fuck are you?"

Cas' eyes flew to Dean when his sub cried out, but Dean shook his head, so he stood his ground. "This isn't your house," Cas said with finality. "This is Dean's house. _He_ pays the taxes, and the bills, and to hear him say it, quite a few of _your_ bills, also. Now get. Out."

The crunch of another car in the driveway drew John's attention. "What the fuck? You having a house party, boy?" He was clearly getting antsy, though, and the sound of dual doors closing made him narrow his eyes. "Fine," he spat, not breaking eye contact with Cas. "But don't get too comfy. You didn't win anything here, boy. Don't forget who you owe this cushy set up to."

He spun and went to the back door, flinging the deadbolt open before storming out of the house. A moment later, there was a knock on the door. "Dean? Cas?" Sam's voice came through the window a little muffled, and then suddenly there was the slam of a car door, the roar of an engine, and the sound of gravel flying.

"We're in the kitchen, Sam," Cas called, finally reaching Dean's side. "Shh... Easy, Pretty," he murmured when Dean recoiled a little from his touch.

"Dude, who was that?" Sam's voice rang out as he and Jess stepped tentatively into the kitchen, and stopped dead when they saw the blood spattering the table, floor and walls. Dean startled, pulling back against himself, and Sam held up his hands to show he wasn't a threat. "Woah... Sorry, Dean... Just us."

"That was John," Dean said after a moment, his voice still shaking. "He decided... Decided to pay me a visit. Think you guys scared him off." He took a deep, trembling breath. "So, uh. Thanks for that."

 

Sam narrowed his eyes. John was here? Well, that certainly explained why Dean was so shaken up. “Dude… That _is_ blood, isn’t it. Are you alright?” He didn’t look too pleased with the nod Dean gave him. Despite the nod, Dean was hunched over his hand and his shoulders were as tight as Sam had ever seen them. Sam figured his hand must be the source of the blood, if the knife on the floor was anything to go by. John Winchester was a menace who needed to be stopped… If he could ever convince Dean of that.

“Easy, Sam,” Cas said, his voice dom-firm. He kept his eyes fixed on Dean, and when he decided that his sub had calmed enough, he took two more steps toward him, until he stood next to the chair.

"Dean, may I see your hand?" He held out one hand, palm up, and waited until Dean tentatively opened his cut hand, laying it on Cas' palm. Cas hissed; the gash was deep and he certainly didn't want to injure it further. "Do you have a first aid kit, Dean?" He kept his voice low and soothing. He could see how Dean was trembling, and wished he'd had the balls, and the gun, to shoot John for what he'd done. Everything had been going so well!

"In the bathroom," Dean whispered, his voice still shaking. "Wrap me up. I can start on the potato salad again."

"What? No!" Cas shook his head. Dean froze at the vehement negative. Trust Dean to immediately act for everyone else’s benefit. "Dean, this needs stitches!" He could tell by the length of it across his palm, if nothing else, but Cas knew how sharp Dean kept his knives, and this made him nervous. He couldn’t see tendons in the gash, but Dean needed his hands, and Cas was taking no chances. "We need to go to the hospital."

"No." Dean shook his head, genuine fear shining in his green eyes. "No, Cas, don't make me... I can't..." His voice shook with panic. He clutched at Cas’ arm with his good hand. The hospital meant bills to pay, and usually questions he didn’t want to answer. Especially not with how recently he’d just been there. He huffed out a long breath, trying to steady himself. "Sam can do it. You can do stitches, right?" He paused, considering. "Or Jess. I keep forgetting you're a baby doctor. No offense."

"None taken," Jess answered, smiling weakly. "I'm happy to help."

"Are you sure, Dean?" Sam's voice was even. "We can get you to a doctor. We should really get it looked at."

"No.It's _fine_." Dean said, the panic swelling in his chest until it was hard to breathe. He turned his attention to the throbbing in his hand; it was easier to push John’s voice away when he was focused on something else. "Just… The damn first aid kit. Get it. There's a fresh suture kit in it." He frowned when Sam still hesitated, and turned to Cas. “I don’t want to go. Cas… I can’t.” He hated the pleading tone in his voice, but he couldn’t seem to turn it off. That? Was worse.

The appeal to his dom seemed to be enough to mobilize his brother, who obediently went down the hall for the kit before Cas could even open his mouth. The threat of hospital gone, Dean relaxed a little. While Sam was gone, Jess helped Dean wheel up to the counter, to make sure the slice was completely clean. “It’s pretty deep, Dean,” she said, gently prodding at the edges of the cut. “But you’ve got finger movement, so I don’t think that he nicked any tendons or anything. That’s good. It’s just gonna be a while before you can use this hand.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah. Just what I needed; to be even _more_ useless.” 

“Dean!” Cas’ voice was scandalized. "I know you are hurting. But I would appreciate you not talking about my boyfriend that way." It was a frequent point of contention for them, Dean's tendency toward self-deprecation.

Hunching his shoulders, Dean flushed a little bit. “I know,” he bit out, fighting the urge to snap at Cas. Cas seemed immediately repentant, but before he could speak again, Sam appeared from the bathroom with the kit. “The suture kit is in the back.” Dean said, glad for having the distraction.

“Do you have any lidocaine, Dean?” Jess took the kit from Sam, laying it on the counter and opening it to pull out the box of sutures. Sometimes she wondered about the life she’d chosen, given that she was stitching up her future brother-in-law in his own kitchen. What was her world coming to?

“No. I’ll be fine.” He looked up at Cas, and narrowed his eyes when it seemed as though his dom wanted to protest. “I’ll be _fine_ ” he repeated more pointedly. “Just…” He hated to lean on Cas _again_ , but he also knew he couldn’t jerk his hand all around while Jess was working. “Sit with me, and hold my arm?”

“Of course, Dean.” Cas nodded to the table. "Perhaps that is the best place?" Sam jumped to clear away the potato salad detritus and to wipe the table with a Clorox wipe he found under the sink. Good thing Dean was so meticulous. 

Cas wheeled Dean over as soon as Sam opened the plastic cloth that came with the suture kit. Dean stretched his arm out, and Cas pulled a chair behind the wheelchair. "It will be fine," he murmured, though the idea of Dean letting himself be stitched up without pain killer turned his stomach. He wrapped one arm around Dean's ribs, and the other under Dean's injured arm to hold him steady.

Jessica scrubbed her hands and pulled on a pair of gloves. "Alright Dean, I'll be quick as I can. Try to breathe, alright?"

Dean nodded and leaned back against Cas. His dom was warm against his back, reassuringly solid. He'd had plenty of stitches over his life, but none had ever been in such a safe environment. John always made it out to be such a huge failing on Dean's part that he'd managed to injure himself. He'd never had strong arms holding him close, a soft voice murmuring in his ear that everything would be okay. The first sting of the needle was almost a surprise, and only Cas' strong arm holding him in place kept him from jerking.

"Easy," Cas murmured. Jess didn't speak, just shot him an apologetic look. Sammy looked murderous, pacing in the background. It made Dean uncomfortable to watch him for long, so he kept his eyes on Jess rhythmically passing the needle in and out of his palm. It was still disgusting, no matter how many times he saw it, but it was somehow soothing, too. Familiar. The stinging burn eventually faded into a background discomfort; the initial rush of endorphins wearing off into a disturbing tendency to tremble. Cas’ hand around his wrist tightened minutely.

Finally she tied the suture off, but stopped him before he tried to flex his hand. “No, Dean,” she said firmly. “You’ll need to keep your hand flat, at least for a few days. The palm is notoriously hard to heal, because it’s got such thick skin. So keep those fingers still.” She smiled apologetically. “I’m going to wrap your hand up with lots of gauze so it stays nice and open. Cas can change them for you for a few days, until the skin has healed enough you can flex your hand.”

Dean huffed out a sigh. “Great. I can barely stand up alone, and now the arm on my better leg is shot. Fuck my life.” His voice shook just a little, and Cas could see the cracks appearing in Dean’s facade, even as some of Dean’s regular bravado returned. Damn John Winchester.

“We will make it through, Dean,” he said. “How about we get you onto the couch after Jess wraps your hand? It is due for your pain pill anyway.” He couldn’t believe Dean was still participating as much as he was; his legs and his hand must be throbbing. 

“I don’t need to be _coddled_ , Cas,” Dean snapped. He regretted it instantly when he saw the flash of hurt on Cas’ face. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Cas raised a hand. 

“Of course not, Dean. I apologize; I was merely making a suggestion. If you are comfortable in the chair, of course, remain here.”

 _Of course_ , Dean wasn’t comfortable. His leg throbbed something awful, and he knew it would only get better if he elevated it. And now that Jess was finishing the bulky wrapping to keep him from bending his hand, his palm was making its own discomfort known quite loudly. But he’d gone and caused a fuss, so he wasn’t going to go back on it now, no matter how alluring the couch sounded.

“Thank you,” he managed stiffly, leaning back in the chair. “I… I wouldn’t say no to the pain pill, though.” That was okay, right? After all, Cas brought it up first. 

His dom didn’t hesitate, standing quickly to go to the medicine cabinet. He carried the first aid kit with him, putting it away as he did.

“So, I’m thinking maybe I’ll hold off on grilling tonight,” Sam said. “Maybe order something in? Thai?”

“Ohh, from that place on Fifth?” Jess grinned. “That sounds awesome. Dean, you have to try their pumpkin curry, it is _so_ good.”

Dean tuned the discussion out until Jess tapped his shoulder. “Dean? How does Thai sound, instead of grilling?”

Dean blinked a couple of times, processing. “Uhh… Sure, if that’s what you guys want.” Dean wasn’t sure at all about Thai, but he’d learned the hard way not to turn down what was put in front of him. “You can get my wallet off my dresser.”

Sam frowned. “Uh, dude, my idea, my treat. You can get the next one.” Maybe not his proudest moment, but everything in him was clamoring to take care of the injured sub in front of him, and he figured this was the only way Dean would let him. Until he could track John down and make it clear that _no one_ messed with his family, this would have to do.

His brother hesitated, pride taking a hit Sam probably couldn’t even imagine. “Yeah, okay,” he said with a tight smile. “On me next time.” Cas appeared with his pain pill and filled a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge. “Hey, babe, we’re doing Thai,” Dean said over his shoulder. He took the pill from Cas and tossed it into his mouth, then took the water and had a hearty swig. “What’s good for Thai, anyway?"

"I have always been partial to massaman curry," Cas said thoughtfully. "It is a little spicy and a little sweet."

"Pad Thai, always," Jess said with a chuckle. "Peanut sauce and noodles. Mmm. Though, like I said, their pumpkin curry is _amazing_." 

Sam grinned. "I order whatever sounds good. Usually different every time. Trust me, there's nothing bad from this place."

Dean shot Cas a look. "Uh... Whatever you think, man." They didn't have a menu for him to look at, and he had no idea what even to say he wanted.

Cas grinned like Dean had given him the greatest gift ever. "Of course, Dean. I think you would like a panang curry. It is a little milder, and I think you will enjoy it." 

Dean shrugged; he had never really cared about that sort of thing. He had no good idea what to choose, so he'd trust Cas and his opinion. "Sure, sounds good. Is it beef?” He forced a smile to hide the growing throbbing in his leg and tremor in his voice. “If it's beef, it's gotta be good."

His dom chuckled, and Dean relaxed a little. "Yes, it can come with beef," Cas agreed. He lifted his hands to Dean's shoulders, rubbing firmly. He hoped the touch would be welcomed, now that Dean seemed to be relaxing. Indeed, Dean practically melted into the pressure, rolling his neck as he allowed Cas to soothe him. It didn't last long, of course. 

Dean groaned lowly as Cas released a stubborn knot in his shoulder, but it was as though the sound alerted him to the fact that _Cas_ was helping _him_ , and he pulled away. "So, uh, guess I'd better set the table, and put those groceries away, huh?" He rolled back from the table, made awkward by only having one hand. Cas headed to the fridge. 

"Good idea. Don't want the whipping cream to go off." He helped Dean put the groceries away and pulled plates from the cabinet. One of his favorite idiosyncrasies he'd noticed in Dean; he preferred real plates for every meal, no matter what. It was likely a throwback from too many meals in his childhood, eating hurriedly and leaving no trace. 

Sammy wandered back in. "Ok, food will be here in like, fifteen minutes." He sank down into a chair opposite Dean. "So. Let's talk. What the hell brought John here?"

Dean shrugged. "He comes sometimes, when he needs to lay low. Has for years."

"That's so unfair, Dean," Sam said, shaking his head. "This is your house! He doesn't have any right to just barge in here, especially if he's behaving like that."

"Well I wouldn't have it if it weren't for him. He set me up with his buddy, got me a pretty decent rent. I owe him."

"Bullshit." Sam's voice was hard. "If he were _asking_ , it might be different, but it's not. You don't owe him, Dean. Lots of hunters have real jobs, support themselves, have bolt holes for laying low."

"He needs me, Sammy." No one ever said family was easy; Dean knew he had a jerk for a father, but John _was_ his father. “And he _is_ my father. You don’t turn your back on family.” His voice was starting to shake again, and he closed his hand around Cas’ wrist. “Besides, I wouldn’t have this house if it weren’t for him.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t trade my life now, for anything. Hunting or no.” He could practically feel Cas beaming behind him, even if it felt weird to be saying that kind of stuff out loud.

Sam took a deep breath. It would be counter productive to get Dean agitated. “That’s fine, Dean. You're right, I mean, we can't just change our past. I’m just concerned for you.” 

Cas settled in the chair behind Dean, wrapping an arm around Dean’s shoulders again. "The real question, Dean, is do _you_ wish for John to stay with you."

Dean wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Honestly? No. I... I really don't." He couldn't say out loud that John made every one of his anxieties sky rocket. He was pretty sure Cas knew anyway, by the way his arm tightened. Dean leaned back into his warmth, wishing again that he had agreed to sit on the couch. Cas could hold him, then, and it wouldn't be so awkward.

"Well that is his answer, then," Cas said matter of factly. "It is your home, Dean. If you want, you are entitled to tell anyone they are not welcome."

Dean didn’t look convinced, but he relaxed a little bit when Cas hugged him tighter. The pain pills were kicking in a little bit, and the tension in his shoulders had gone a little bit. “I know,” he said finally, shrugging slightly. Cas against his back was a comfortable, familiar weight. It felt so good, it was easier to forget about John. “He’s dangerous, though.” It was getting harder to talk; the painkiller was making him feel kind of floaty. “I mean, you heard him.”

Jess appeared, setting a cup of milk in front of Dean. “You should drink that; those pain killers can upset your stomach if you don’t get something in you.” 

Milk had never really been Dean’s favorite, but he didn’t hesitate to pick up the cup. After all, Jess knew what she was talking about. Sammy wouldn’t be with her if she wasn’t smart, right? He was glad not to have to talk right now, anyway.

He was saved from conversing further by the knock on the door. “That’ll be the food,” Sam said, standing. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said over his shoulder as he headed to the door. Jess followed, and Cas helped Dean settle into his spot at the table. Jess and Sam emerged from the living room with the bags. “Alright, here we are… Curries and rice all day.” He grinned, settling in and starting to pull containers out of the bag.

Cas watched as Dean struggled to open his rice. He itched to help, but knew he had to wait for Dean to request it. Finally, Dean huffed out a sigh and pushed the plastic container toward Cas. “Can you get this for me?” A deep blush stained his cheeks, and Cas knew he had to tread carefully, or Dean would simply choose not to eat. An unacceptable outcome, by any measure. 

“Of course.” Cas opened it and calmly spooned a decent serving of rice onto Dean’s plate. “Would you like your curry on top, or beside it?”

“Beside it,” Dean said, still blushing. Cas didn’t comment on his sub’s discomfort, simply served the meal and started on his own food. 

“So, Dean,” Sam said, apparently taking his cues from Cas for once. “If we’re going to keep John out, we need to come up with a way to keep you safe.”

Dean frowned. Great. Another reminder of how _useless_ he was. “Yeah, I know. I mean, regular locks aren’t gonna keep him out.”

“You’re right,” Jess said, shaking her head. “Look… Our classes are spread out enough, I think we can have somebody here all the time, at least until John’s out of town again.”

Dean put his fork down, nausea roiling in his gut again. “No.” He shook his head. “Absolutely not.” He fought the urge to roll back from the table. He couldn’t possibly ask any of them to put themselves in harm’s way like that; John had guns and was not afraid to use them. 

“He certainly didn’t hesitate to threaten you,” Sam pressed. “Dean, he’s dangerous!”

“That’s why I can’t let you do that,” Dean said, shaking his head and clenching his good hand in his pants. “That’s not… Not an option.”

“Dean…” Cas stroked his shoulder. “Shh. Alright. We can discuss this later.” He shot Sam a look, and the other dom subsided. “As it stands, I have no classes tomorrow; we really don’t have to go anywhere. We will be together.”

That didn’t seem to make Dean feel any better, but he nodded anyway. “If you say so,” he said flatly. The weight of Cas’ gaze pushed him to pick up his fork again, but he simply stirred the rice and curry together, picking at the vegetables but not bringing anything to his lips.

“It is going to be fine,” Cas said again, and purposely took a forkful of his mussaman curry. “Try this, Dean… I think you will enjoy it.” He smiled, offering the bite to his sub. Dean hesitated, but opened his mouth to let Cas feed him the chicken and potato.

“Mm.” The slightly spicy, creamy sauce covered his tongue. He wasn’t terribly hungry, but the smile on Cas’ face when he chewed and swallowed made it a little easier to pick up his own fork and take another bite of his own food. “That is good.”

Jess grinned. “See? I told you, Thai is fantastic.” She scooped up a piece of her own shrimp, and some noodles, and held it out to Sam. “Try this, baby, it’s awesome.” She could see how uncomfortable Dean was, and she didn’t want to pressure him any more. Definitely better to change the subject. She and Sam could talk later, about John, and make a plan. If Dean didn’t want them there, that was fair, but she wasn’t going to let John hurt Dean again either.

Sam, bless him, seemed to catch on, and he opened his mouth. “Mm… That is good.” He chewed thoughtfully and then held up a bite for her. “I think they changed the recipe on this… It’s spicier than usual.”

She nodded. “Yes, it is.” She dug into her own food. “Definitely spicier than I’m used to,” she said, after she’d swallowed another bite.

Cas watched Dean out of the corner of his eye. He was still picking at his food, but at least he was _eating_. Now that he was not the center of attention, he was willing to try. That was good; Dean always put off eating when he was stressed. It was a concerning habit Cas hoped he could break. 

Conversation turned to easier things, like Jess’ classmates atrocious note taking skills. Dean didn’t really contribute much, but Cas noted that he ate nearly half of his curry. That was most encouraging, and he squeezed Dean’s knee under the table. 

Jess scraped her plate clean and shot a glance at Dean. “Well… I have a paper due tomorrow. We better get going.” She stood up. “Sam, come help me wash these dishes real quick so I can go finish.” 

“Oh, ah, sure.” Sam shoveled his last bite into his mouth and stood up. He let Jess herd him over to the sink, ignoring Dean’s attempted protest. It only took a minute to wash up their dishes and set them to drain. “Well, hey, listen… We’ll be in touch, okay, Dean?”

Dean nodded, poking at the curry still in his dish. “Sure, dude, yeah.” He felt stretched taut, itching under his skin. He loved Sam and Jess, but suddenly he just wanted them _gone_. Luckily, they seemed to have gotten the hint, because Jess wrapped an arm around Sam’s waist and smiled at Dean.

“Talk to you tomorrow. Take care of that hand, keep it dry and wrapped up, okay?”

Dean nodded again, and then they were gone. He took a deep shuddering breath, his eyes wide and flat. “Angel,” he said, his voice shaking. He wasn’t sure what else he wanted to say; he couldn’t get it out, regardless.

Luckily, Angel always knew just what to say. “Shh… Yes, Pretty. I know.” He stood up, and wrapped his arms around Pretty’s shoulders. “Come on… Let’s go into the bedroom and get changed for the night.” Inside, he was crowing with pleasure. Pretty felt safe enough to ask for _something_ , and this was much more of a coup than he’d ever expected. Reining himself in, he refocused on what his sub needed.He knew Pretty would feel better if he were ensconced in their big warm bed, in his favorite sleep pants and an old Led Zep tee shirt.

Pretty didn’t protest as Angel wheeled him through the house into the bedroom, just kept his eyes down, twitching his fingers in the bandage. Angel busied himself pulling out their pajamas, and came back to Pretty’s side with a stack. “Lift up your arms for me, Pretty.”

“What? I can do it myself,” he said, frowning. Yeah, so he only had one hand… Big whoop! But Angel met his gaze squarely.

“Of course you can,” he agreed. “But I would like to do this for you.” He didn’t mention that, by invoking the name ‘Angel’, Pretty had tacitly agreed to do whatever Angel wished. Angel waited a beat for him to safeword, but it never came, and after another moment, Pretty lifted his arms.

Angel pulled his shirt off, and then pulled the soft, worn shirt over Pretty’s head. “There… Now… When you stand up, we’ll pull these down… I can help you get the clean ones on in the bed, alright?”

Pretty nodded; he really didn’t want to argue. As strange as it was, it still felt _good_ to let Angel take care of him, and he didn’t know what else to say, anyway. So instead he let Angel help him to stand, and to push his pants down. He flopped down onto the bed with a hiss, not even trying to control his sit. Everything already hurt; what did it matter if he wasn’t that careful. But Angel frowned at him. “Please be careful, Pretty.”

His cheeks burned and he nodded; Angel was always concerned for him, and Dean didn’t want to make him upset. “Yes, Angel,” he agreed softly. He pushed up with his left foot, hissing a bit. The fracture there wasn’t as bad as on the right, and so he could use it to move around a little, but it still ached like a sonovabitch when he put pressure through it. Angel tenderly helped him to scoot back in the bed, and removed his shoes and jeans. The plaid pajama bottoms were a gift from Bobby a lifetime ago, worn soft and faded. His favorite. Angel knew him so well. He rocked his hips side to side so Angel could pull them up, and then Angel lifted his right leg to help him slide into bed.

Each touch felt so good, Pretty cringed away. How could he let Angel touch him like that, like he was something _precious_ , when he was so dirty inside? John was right; he _was_ a slut. He didn’t deserve this, none of it.His mind spiraled dangerously, and he clenched his hands in the blankets as he fought not to pull out of Angel’s grasp as he positioned him on the bed.

Angel touched his face. “Pretty,” he said, voice low and soothing. “Open your eyes and look at me, please.” 

He took a shuddering breath, prying his eyes open. Angel knelt over him, blue eyes close and oh so worried. “There you are.” He smiled, stroking Pretty’s cheek. “I do not know what John said to you, and it really isn’t material to this moment. I want you to let me take care of you.”

Pretty hesitated. “I… I can’t,” he said. “You don’t know… John was right. If you knew… Knew what I did, who I am….” He choked into silence, tears welling in his eyes. 

“I know exactly who you are,” Angel said, cutting him off with a shake of his head. “You are _my_ Pretty, my sweet, strong, intelligent boyfriend. Whomever you subbed for before, in whatever the circumstances, that has no bearing on this right now.” He kissed Pretty’s lips softly, and stroked his cheek. He ached inside; he was fairly certain that _something_ had happened to scar his Pretty so thoroughly. It was not at all fair to hear his Pretty talking about himself as though he were worthless. “Right now, you are here, with me, and I am taking care of you.”

Pretty cut his eyes away to the side, but Angel turned his face resolutely to meet them again. “I am taking care of you, Pretty. I want you to give it up to me, just for tonight, and let me take care of you.”

That was hard; it was so hard to do what Angel was asking. But he hungered for it. He wanted to let go and just _be_. Angel always seemed to know what to say, how to touch him; he _wanted_ that. He took a deep breath. _If this is all I get, I want it_ , he thought to himself, and nodded. 

“Good boy.” The rumbling praise felt like a balm across his stung pride, and a small smile stretched across his lips. “Now Pretty, let’s get you comfortable.” Angel helped him to scoot up the bed, and soon the two of them were leaned against the pillows, Angel’s arm around Pretty’s shoulder. He had a book in hand, and he smiled. “I believe we were in chapter seven,” he said as he opened to their bookmark. Pretty let his head drop onto Angel’s shoulder as his voice rolled around him. Pretty let his shoulders droop as Angel’s hand stroked his shoulders and the story unfolded. The stress of the day finally faded into the background as he let his dom’s voice lulled him to sleep. 

_  
"Aren't you a pretty little thing, all laid out for me?" Dean squirmed against the ropes holding him, wincing where they bit into the tender skin at wrists and ankles. The dom loomed over him, his face covered with a leather mask like something out of a bad porno. Oddly, it was more terrifying than he'd expected, given that he'd seen the guy's face at the club when he'd let himself be picked up._

_He knew the right lines, what the guy wanted to hear, so he averted his eyes and nodded. "If you say so, sir." He swallowed; the fear wasn't feigned. He tugged on the ropes again; suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to be _gone_ , but he didn’t think that was likely to go over well with this dom. And he _had_ agreed._

_The dom reached out of his field of vision, returning with a wicked looking instrument, some kind of wheel with needles all along its rim. Dean whimpered preemptively, not even wanting to know what it did. As he advanced on the wriggling sub, Dean closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see, to know… A sharp pain coursed across his chest. Dean jolted. He didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to stay here._

_“Impala,” he said, arching involuntarily as the wheel dragged down his abs again. “Impala!”_

_The dom didn’t hesitate, just reached for another wicked toy, chuckling. “Now now, little one… I thought you were going to be a good boy for me? We’re just getting started!” The violet wand touched his abs, and Dean sobbed as his abdomen spasmed._

_“Please,” he said, then screamed again. “Impala!” The wand descended again, and Dean jerked away as far as the ropes would go. He closed his eyes as the wand grew closer and closer…_

He came awake thrashing, his arms pinned against something hard and warm. “Impala!” He screamed, and instantly the hold around him fell away.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> First, I would like to apologize for the crazy long wait with this chapter. I had hoped to get it written before NaNo but that just didn't happen. So thank you all for your patience and understanding for the length of time this has taken me to get up.
> 
> THAT being said, I used NaNo to prepare for this story! So I have about 45k more words already written. Are they pretty? Not really. But they're WRITTEN and that's half the battle!
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone who reviewed on the last chapter. I LOVE knowing that people are reading and enjoying this story. If it weren't for all of you, I would have given up on this a long time ago.
> 
> Finally, as usual, thanks to Lisa for the awesome beta, for catching my inconsistencies, and for helping me to focus when my brain was all over the place. As usual. You rock, lady!
> 
> And now... Without further ado... This chapter!

Cas scrambled away from Dean as his boyfriend thrashed on the bed, giving him space to come awake. Their blanket slid to the floor, falling with a muffled thump to puddle next to the bed. Dean laid panting, eyes wide, and skin covered in a sheen of sweat. He swallowed hard against the pain, biting back a keening sound.

"Easy, Dean, easy." Cas sat at the foot of the bed, hands up and visible. All of his dom instincts screamed to hold and soothe, but Dean had safe-worded. Yes, he had been sleeping, but that was to be respected regardless. Despite his fingers itching to rub the tension from Dean's shoulders, to hold him until the defeated look left his eyes, Cas refused to approach until he was certain Dean was ready.

Dean’s eyes roamed the room wildly, assessing exits and escape routes, finally landing on Cas when he’d assured himself that they hadn’t changed. "Sorry," he said hoarsely. "Bad dream." His breathing slowed, but the panic in his eyes didn't die down. 

"I assumed as much." He could see Dean’s unease, but didn’t want to press too soon, since Dean wasn’t yet fully awake. He inched closer, slowly lowering his hands to the bed, but froze when Dean’s eyes widened again. Resisting the urge to touch, he purposely locked eyes on Dean. "Dean, you safe-worded.” He forced his voice to steadiness, despite his worry. “I would like to touch you… May I?” 

The question caught Dean off guard, and he blinked in confusion. His mind still felt fuzzy, as though _he_ hovered there just out of sight, his cattle prod in hand. The phantom dom nearly overshadowed his real one. "What?" 

“I would like to touch you,” Cas repeated, not moving from his spot at the foot. Until he had Dean’s permission, he wasn’t going to invade his space. “But I do not wish to make your anxiety worse.” He kept his voice low and gentle, but he still sensed when Dean tensed up again.

Cas always touched him; hands on his shoulders when they passed, fingers brushing when they handed food across the table, his head on Dean's knee when they sat and watched TV in the evening. Cas touched him so often that the lack of touch was disturbing, but Cas never _asked_ before he touched, either. _Fuck. Now you’ve even got him worried about_ touching _you… How fucked up can you get, Winchester?_ Dean swallowed hard and forced his eyes up to Cas. “You can always touch me,” he said after a moment’s thought. “If you want to, I mean.” 

Cas took the permission for what it was, and slid across the bed to wrap his arm around Dean’s side. His sub remained rigid, fighting the embrace but not pulling away. "Your dream was, obviously, quite distressing. Would you tell me about it?” He thought that it seemed to be a very bad dream after all, if Dean was so nervous afterwards. 

"I..." Dean hesitated, looking down at his hands. "You don't wanna hear about it. It was nothing." _And anyway,_ he thought, _John was right. I can't believe I was such a whore... I just let him do that to me!_ The feeling of the dom's ropes lingered on his wrists, and he rubbed them unconsciously.

"I would very much like to hear about it, Dean," Cas protested gently. "If you feel comfortable sharing." He kept his voice even, and began a rhythmic stroking of Dean’s shoulders. “I simply want to know how I can help you, and protect you from this happening again.”

It finally sank in that this was _Cas_ talking to him, and not _Angel_ , and somehow that was worse. _Why do you have to ruin_ everything _, boy?_ His father’s voice taunted him in his head. It didn’t occur to him that Cas always ended their Scenes if he fell asleep. “If you want,” he said, shrugging. In truth, he wanted Cas. He wanted to _know_ that he was here, _now_. But he couldn’t ask for that, didn’t deserve that kind of comfort.

“Of course I want to.” Castiel smiled, the look warmed his gaze and Dean relaxed fractionally. Dean held himself stiffly in the embrace for a few more seconds before he slumped against his dom’s side, the heavy warmth of Cas’ arm an anchor into reality. “Now, Dean,” he said again, after a moment, “Do you think you can tell me a little bit about what was so frightening in your dream?”

Dean bit his lip, but Cas tightened his hug a little and Dean relaxed again. “I don’t want to,” he said softly. He squirmed around so his back was to Cas’ chest, and he could stare at the wall. It was easier to say out loud when Cas was holding him, when he didn’t have to see the looks of pity or disgust on his dom’s face when he opened his mouth. “John’s right. When you hear about it, you’re going to be disgusted. I don’t want to lose you.”

Cas’ lips narrowed into a thin line. _Damn John Winchester!_ He thought vehemently. It was beyond his ken how one man could do so much damage to one little boy. He dreamed of the day he could tell John Winchester what he really thought of the man! Until then, though, he took a deep breath and let it out. “Dean.” He kept his voice even, reminding himself that Dean still cared for his father, despite no good reason to do so. “You are my boyfriend, my sub. One day, I hope to call you husband.” He paused, gauging Dean’s reaction. Neither of them had ever said anything so permanent out loud, but he hoped they both had been thinking the same thing. 

Dean’s heart fluttered at that. Cas dreamed of _marriage?_ They hadn’t discussed it. He assumed it would never happen for him. But Cas, Cas was something else. Of course, they were soulmates. Their names matched. But that didn’t mean it would all work out. And Dean knew that his past was more than enough to trip up someone as gentle and as loving as Cas. He opened his mouth to protest, but Cas shushed him and continued.

“Even so, I know you have had many challenges, Dean.” He leaned over, kissing Dean’s temple softly while he considered his next words. If he were not careful, he could freeze Dean up entirely. His sub was an expert at locking people out. He also knew that Dean often needed him to be completely blunt, because he tried to read much more deeply into things than was meant, usually to his own detriment. 

“Dean, when I say that nothing will change the way I feel about you, I mean it. Your past is your own, and I will neither judge you nor condemn you for it.” He rubbed Dean’s arm softly. “You are a good man, Dean Winchester, and you have had to do hard things in order to survive. I could not condemn you for making choices to protect yourself.”

"I didn't..." Dean clenched his hands in the sheet, hissing as his cut hand strained against the gauze holding it still. Cas gently claimed the injured hand with each of his own, stroking Dean’s wrist with a thumb until he relaxed.

“You are making assumptions about my reactions because of John’s poisonous words,” Cas said, without censure. “If you are not yet comfortable sharing, I will respect that. But if your only fear is of my negative reaction, well… let me to lay your fears to rest. You could tell me you’ve had relations with a hundred men, or none, and it would change my opinion of you not one iota.”

There was a long pause while Dean weighed Cas’ words. His dom had never lied to him, never held himself back. If there were ever to be someone _to_ trust with, well, _everything_ , Cas would be the one. _So why does it still feel like I’m lining up for a firing squad?_ He asked himself bitterly. He took a deep breath. “I wasn’t safewording you,” he said, finally. “It was a long time ago. I don’t remember his name. I was seventeen.”

Cas forced himself not to tense up at Dean’s admission. _Seventeen?_ At seventeen, Dean should have been dating, perhaps Playing in a few light Scenes, but nothing that should cause a safeword of the intensity Cas had seen. “And he hurt you?” He pressed. He knew that he would not like what Dean was about to say. He also knew that it was important for both of them that Dean be able to share with him. Loving Dean was like walking a scenic cliff face. He would never pass up the view, but he knew one wrong step could kill them both.

“He was inventive.” Dean’s voice was very soft, and Cas had to strain to really hear him. “I didn’t really _want_ to Play with him, but I wasn’t supposed to be in the bar, and he was hot. Before he put the mask on, anyway.” He swallowed hard, clenching his good hand in the blankets again. “It wasn’t… He didn’t _rape me_ , Cas. I agreed to Scene with him.” He spoke quickly, Cas needed to know that. It was important to be clear, John always said. _Say what you mean, or don’t say anything at all_ , he always said. His train of thought skittered off like cockroaches in the light.

“I… think you and I might have different opinions on that,” Cas said, breathing in through his nose as he tried to keep his voice even. “He _hurt you_ , Dean…” Something hot and protective rose up in him at that, and he wished again that he could go back in Dean’s life and stop anyone who was trying to hurt him.

“It was my fault,” Dean protested, shaking his head. “I should have known better.” He swallowed hard. “I shouldn’t have let him do… That.”

“Dean.” Cas firmed his voice, just a hair. Dean still wasn’t looking at him, staring at the bedding determinedly. “Please… You were telling me about your nightmare.” He brought Dean back to the conversation at hand. There was no good in letting Dean’s mind wander to self-recrimination. Given free reign, Dean would eventually bring the blame for the apocalypse onto his own shoulders, somehow. 

“Right… Right.” Dean idly began to draw circles on the bedclothes, his breathing quickening just a little. “Well… He was… He had me tied down. I couldn’t move. And he brought out this wheel thing. It was wicked, pointed and sharp, like a million needles. The thing burned like a sonuvabitch, and he wasn’t gentle with it.” He swallowed. “I told him I didn’t like it, but he kept going anyway. That was the first time I tried to safeword.” Now that he’d said it out loud, it was like he couldn’t stop. The words just kept coming. “He didn’t listen. He had this… Cattle prod, thing. It was purple, and every time he touched me I jerked all over, and I couldn’t stop, but the ropes were so tight…”

Dean breathed deeply, fighting tears that he hated the thought of falling. He still felt floaty, like everything was disconnected. The phantom dom still lurked in the back of his mind like a specter, waiting to pounce. “That’s when I woke up. He didn’t get to the wax, or the needles…” _This time_ , went unsaid.

Cas tightened his grip, fighting down the urge to vomit. He pulled Dean as close as he could, as though to shield him from his own past. His heart broke for Dean, his sweet Dean, at the very idea of such horror. He took a deep breath, trying to level his emotions before he spoke. “Dean,” he began, aware his voice was shaking and unable to do anything about it, “he had no right to continue with you after you safe worded.” He shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts. “Could you… what part prompted you to safeword tonight?” 

Part of Dean was reeling. Cas hadn’t pulled away. He didn’t act as though Dean was dirty or wrong. The shock of it left him confused, and it took a moment to process Cas’ question. "I don't know," he said finally, trying not to fade off, "it could be that you were holding me so tightly?" He didn't really mind it, though, when Cas held him, and when his dom’s arms started to loosen their hold he reached up to tug them tight again. "I guess it's just because I've been so on edge, lately, with John and everything." He tugged the blanket a little bit higher up around his waist. "Do we have to talk about this right now?"

"No, we don't," Cas agreed easily. "But it might be a good idea for you to try. I think you will feel better if you get it all out in the open. I would rather not have this fester in your mind.” He smiled wanly. “A burden shared is a burden halved, after all.” He felt immeasurably better when Dean whacked his knee playfully. He hugged Dean again, glad that his voice sounded steadier. "I don't want to ask..." he trailed off for a moment, considering his words.

"Then don't," Dean said quickly, jumping in as soon as Cas paused. "You really don't want to know, man. It's not good, okay? Can we just leave it at that?" His voice trembled. "I'm fucked up. I am. You know it, I know it." He shuddered and took a deep breath. "We don't need to say it out loud."

"Dean!" Cas' voice held a firm rebuke. "You know that was not what I meant! I do not like to hear you talk about my boyfriend that way." He squeezed Dean's shoulders and then released him a little. "What I wanted to ask was... was he the only one?" The way Dean spoke, he knew that could not be the case. Dean always spoke so negatively about himself, Cas knew that his lover was deeply in denial about all of the injuries done to him.

"The only one to ignore my safeword?" Dean swallowed, but shook his head. "No. He was one of the last ones, though. I was almost eighteen when I met him, and ended up moving here. After that, I didn't hook up with doms anymore." He'd had no desire to put himself through that when he was living in one place. It was much easier to pick up other subs, no strings attached. 

"I see." Cas blew out a slow breath, and buried his nose in Dean's hair for a moment. He felt a minute tremor running through Dean's body, and he held his sub tightly. The aftermath of the nightmare would leave Dean feeling off for hours, he knew, though he had never been party to one of Dean's nightmares that were this bad. "I am sorry such things happened to you," he said, though he knew he was skating on thin ice. Dean could easily interpret such things as pity, which it certainly was not. "Please know that I will _always_ respect your safeword, and any other signal we have mutually decided. Your safety and comfort is paramount to me."

"I know, Cas." Dean's mind still reeled about that. Cas was, by far, the most respectful partner he’d ever had. The thought of living without him, of how close he had come to turning him away, made his stomach roil. "You're the best… And I don't know what I did to deserve you." Without Cas, he wasn't sure who he would have ended up with, but given his track record, it wouldn’t have been anyone as kind hearted or respectful.

"You did nothing," Cas said with a small chuckle. "Except be yourself. Being with you is a reward all to itself, Dean." He finally pulled back and kissed the side of Dean's mouth. His sub seemed more relaxed, even if he weren't entirely back to himself. "Would you like me to make some coffee?" Few things made Dean Winchester's morning as much as coffee would.

Dean glanced at the clock. "It's... four in the morning, Cas," he protested, shaking his head. "I don't need you getting up and making me coffee at four in the morning."

"Dean." Cas' voice was fond, if a little bit exasperated. "Do you think you will be going back to sleep tonight?"

"Well... No." It was hard enough on a normal night to fall back to sleep if he had to get up and go to the bathroom, or to go and get a snack. But after a nightmare it was virtually impossible. If it weren't for Cas, Dean wouldn't even try. His habit was to go and sit on the living room couch, and try to drown the dream with bad reality television. Kraken’s Kave, that terrible show about venture investors, was always good for some mindless gazing.

"Well then, if you are not sleeping, I am certainly not going to sleep." Cas grinned, "Ergo, it may be time for coffee." He chafed Dean's arm briskly to still his shivering. "I can make you something else... hot cocoa? Cinnamon tea?"

"Actually... hot chocolate would be killer," Dean admitted with a shaky grin. "I'd really like that, Cas." 

"Very well," Cas agreed, sliding slowly from the bed. "As you wish, Dean."

He scooted carefully around Dean's leg, pausing before he got all the way off to ensure that the pillows were propped comfortably. He resituated the sheet around Dean to accommodate for his absence, and picked the comforter up off the floor. After he spread it across the bed, he stepped aside. "Do you need anything else?" He hesitated to leave. He really didn't want Dean to be by himself. The consequences of Dean's nightmares could be quite frightening.

"I'm fine, Cas," Dean said, shaking his head. "Don't worry about me. Just... Go ahead and do whatever. I'll still be here when you get back." Truth be told, he didn't want Cas to leave any more than Cas did, but he also did want hot chocolate. And if he had to have a breakdown, he'd rather have it when his dom wasn't immediately present. 

"If you say so." Cas hesitated for another moment, but ultimately he pulled away and turned to the door. "Call if you need me, Dean. Anything at all. I will be just in the kitchen."

Dean chuckled, a watery sound that left him feeling less than cheered. "Trust me, Cas, if I need you, you'll be the first to know." He made a "shooing" gesture with both hands, and Cas reluctantly turned and left the room. As soon as Cas was gone, Dean took a deep shuddering breath, and stared at the far wall. _Cas didn't run_ , he thought, the shock filtering through the residual fear from the dream. _He's still here._ He'd become so accustomed to losing what he had that he couldn't imagine getting to keep _this_ , the best thing that ever happened to him.

He shifted down in the bed again, and listened intently. In the shadows of the room, sounds in the house were magnified. If he listened carefully, he could hear Cas down the hall, mixing the ingredients for his homemade cocoa. It was funny, a guy who could hardly open a can of pasta sauce to save his life, could make a kickass cocoa on the stove. He said that Gabriel taught him when they were kids. Of all of Cas' brothers, Dean thought Gabriel sounded like the least douchey.

"Dean, do you want any peppermint in your cocoa?" Cas' voice floated down the hallway, and Dean smiled faintly.

"No thanks, Cas," he called back. Since Cas had more or less moved in, Dean's grocery list had expanded considerably. He'd always been a decent cook, but there was no point in cooking for one. Now that he was regularly cooking with Cas, it was easier to justify the expense of buying a wider variety of groceries than he’d never allowed himself before. Letting his eyes drift closed, Dean floated with the soft sounds of Cas in the kitchen.

His dom appeared a few minutes later, carrying two heavy mugs of cocoa and a small plate of cookies. "I found the Oreos in the cabinet with the dry milk," Cas said as he set the plate down on Dean's bedside table. "And the idea was simply too good to pass up." Nothing could really be fixed with Oreos, but Cas thought he could try.

The two of them sipped cocoa in silence for a few minutes, Dean staring down at the soft brown liquid, and Cas staring at Dean. 

"Dean," Cas said finally, breaking the silence. "Do you think you could tell me anything else I should be avoiding, as far as Scening goes?" He bit his lip. "I think it will be quite some time before I even consider attempting anything with you with bound hands. If we ever attempt that at all." He shook his head, there was no need for every couple to do everything. The mental image of Dean bound and open for Cas' pleasure was lovely, true, and he thought that Dean would find the chance to simply _feel_ , with no need to reciprocate, to be ultimately freeing. Still, there was no way that he was going to potentially provoke a panic attack simply for the chance to use some ropes.

Dean stiffened again. He had no desire to talk about anything like that. "Cas, I thought we weren't talking about this," he protested, setting his mug aside and picking up an Oreo. He was able to grip it in the very tips of the fingers of his left hand, twisting the cap off and lifting the cookie with the frosting to his lips in a show of forced nonchalance. "I don't want to," he said after he'd licked the cookie clean. 

"Well, you certainly do not have to," Cas agreed with a shrug. "But I feel that you would truly benefit from discussing it... and our relationship will be all the stronger if I have some idea of what kind of traps to avoid. Dean..." he sighed, "I do not want to make you feel uncomfortable, or give you any kind of pressure. But I also know that you will be much happier when we have made some kind of decision together about Scenes." And the only way they could do that was to discuss at least enough of Dean's past to know what to avoid. 

Dean took a deep breath and looked away from Cas. "Look... it was a long time ago. I was lonely and I made some bad decisions. I really don't think you want to know about that."

"Of course I do, Dean!" Cas shook his head and settled next to him. "Dean, I want to know _everything_ about you.” He leaned in to brush Dean’s lips with his own, glad to see Dean relaxing a little. “Perhaps a little tit-for-tat will help?” He reached out to squeeze Dean's hand gently. "I am happy to tell you about my life. After all, you need to know about me, the same as I need to know about you." He knew his own experiences were dreadfully mundane in comparison to Dean’s, but anything that would put his boyfriend at ease was worth trying in his book, and after all, he wanted the depth of comfort only a very familiar partner has. “I can go first.”

 

Dean shrugged. "I guess," he said softly. "I mean, you always seem like you know exactly what you're doing, and what to say. I really don't know what to do with myself, but you _always_ do." 

"Well." Cas chuckled. He wanted Dean to feel comfortable with him. "I wouldn’t say that I _always_ know, but you and I are very similar in many ways. I have some experiences, and I try to learn from them." He leaned back. "Let's see... my first experience with a sub. I was perhaps... sixteen. His name was Davie, and we were in English class together." He smiled. His first boyfriend had been quite a subject of amusement to his brothers when he was younger. 

"Davie and I were friendly, often pairing up for team activities, writing papers together. Davie presented early, fifteen, and I presented somewhat later, shortly after my sixteenth birthday." He watched Dean carefully, searching for signs of discomfort or jealousy. Dean, for his part, simply seemed to be interested in listening. "We really didn’t do much," he said, after a moment more consideration. "Certainly nothing that you would consider anything very intense. But we would go out to eat, and he often allowed me to order for him." Cas smiled at the memory. "I very much enjoy ordering for my sub," he confided, as though Dean had not noticed it before. "To know that I am providing something they will enjoy, and to see the trust they allow me to have." 

Dean chuckled, his voice still a little bit raw. "Yeah, I’ve noticed. You do a pretty good job. I mean," he shrugged, "I wouldn't like it all the time, but if you wanted to, now and then..." he trailed off, considering their joined hands. "You did a pretty decent job with the Thai last night. It was pretty good."

"Well, thank you, Dean," Cas said with a smile. He leaned in and kissed Dean's cheek softly. "I was glad to see you eat so heartily; with the pain medications you are on, I wouldn’t want you to have any kind of stomach issues." He shook his head and shrugged, "In any case, Davie and I worked well together, and we had a few interesting Scenes. But he met his Soulmate at the start of the summer that year. I certainly could not begrudge him that." Actually, as most teenagers would be, he had been somewhat jealous, but that was mostly immaterial to the story at hand. "So we went our separate ways. Truthfully, I’ve not had many more dedicated relationships."

Dean blinked up at him in surprised, "Really?" He shook his head, "I mean... You're such a catch though, Cas. Sensitive, thoughtful..." he chuckled, "Chick flick moments aside. I can't believe that." The tension of the nightmare was slowly fading away, with the focus he had on Cas, and Dean sighed softly. "You're really awesome, Cas, that's all."

Cas chuckled, pleased. "Well, you are quite awesome as well, Dean," he said, wrapping his arm around Dean's waist and hugging him close. "You and I are quite a pair. But I am absolutely enjoying getting to know you. As you have said, it may seem that I know 'just what to say'..." he shrugged, "mostly it’s simply what I think about what you need to hear. Because you ,” he nuzzled Dean’s brow, “are the most important thing in my life." He kissed Dean's cheek, glad that the fear and nausea seemed to have passed. "I never really had to focus on dating before, because I have always been very focused on my schooling and my work. Between my father and my school work, I haven’t had much time for dating."

Dean's stomach clenched anxiously. "You're kidding me, man," he said, frowning. He wasn't even sure what Cas _did_ , but he remembered that he'd been cut off from his father. Shit. "You're taking off from work to take care of me, aren't you? Cas, man, you know you can't do that." He didn't want his boyfriend to end up without money that he needed or something.

"Dean," Cas' voice took on a sharp note. "Dean, I will be fine. Honestly, I work on campus part time, most of my money comes from grants and scholarships. And..." he smiled wistfully. "My brother Gabriel takes good care of me. He is... well off, as is his wife, Kali.” Cas smiled wryly. “She’s a doctor. The two of them wanted me to be able to take my time and focus on my studies. So they provide me with a monthly stipend to support myself.” He shrugged a little bit, trying to dispel Dean’s worries. “I mostly use my campus work for pocket money, and not much else. So please, do not let yourself worry about that."

Dean relaxed fractionally. Well, that wasn't what he had expected, but it was a relief. Cas didn't need to be worrying about money at the same time he was worrying about him. He would never forgive himself if Cas lost his job or something because he was playing nursemaid.

"Now then," Cas took a hopeful breath. He wanted Dean to open up to him, and he wasn't sure if the he could yet. "Do you think that you might be willing to talk a little bit more about... anything else?"

Dean frowned. He had no desire to share that part of his past with anyone, let alone his dom. Cas' story about his first boyfriend was cute, innocent. He had no such story. "Uh..." Cas kept saying he wanted to know about Dean's past, but, could he really want to know? "If you think it's a good idea,” he said finally, deflating. After all, those nightmares were bound to come back again. Just because he _hadn't_ had one while he was with Cas didn't mean that he never _would_.

Cas nodded gravely, "I would very much like to know," he said finally. "Even if it is only a bit of background so that I can understand where you are coming from." He really didn't want to bring up John, or what his father had said about Dean, but the question still stuck in his mind. Not that he would judge Dean had he, at any point, actually exchanged money for sex. No, he knew enough about John Winchester to know that had Dean done that, it would be because John had neglected to leave him enough money to survive on without going to extremes. But John had called Dean a whore, and that implied that _something_ had happened in Dean's past, something that had, no doubt, scarred his sub deeply.

Dean took a deep breath, blowing it out softly. He locked his eyes on Cas willing him to understand, "I'm not ready to talk about, uhm, tonight." He frowned slightly again, "You told me about your first. I can do that." Cas urged him on with a nod, "I presented in Texas," he said finally, his voice shaking. "Deep south, you know? They can be... _really_ traditional down there. Anyway, I was a quiet kid. John never really wanted me to draw attention to myself. But subs down there, they really get razzed on."

He leaned back against the headboard, putting a little space between himself and Cas. He didn't want to see the look on his dom's face when he realized what Dean had done. "I didn't have many friends, but I used to go to parties, you know? A little bit of rebellion." He chuckled softly. He hadn't rebelled against John much, and look what it got him. "Anyway. We moved into a new town, and I went to this party. It was the best way to figure out who was the popular crowd, you know? And free alcohol never hurts." 

Thinking about Kale and the gang almost made him regret the cocoa and cookies, and he swallowed down the nausea that threatened. "Kale, he was a senior. On the basketball team, the captain. As far as doms go, well... he was pretty charismatic. Most of the team were doms. No one really talked about it, but down south, subs just kept to their own teams. It wasn't worth trying to fight to get put on the regular one." He shrugged, as though the little bit of distraction hadn't been his way of putting off talking about it.

Cas listened quietly, resisting the urge to come closer to Dean and hold him tightly again. He wanted his sub to feel like he had the space he needed, if that was what he wanted. But he could already feel the direction this tale was turning. Dean had made it clear that the time he had spent in high school had not been pleasant for him. He really didn't like to think about what this meant. But Dean, he'd _lived_ it. So that meant the least Cas could do would be to listen.

"Anyway.” Dean pulled the blanket higher on his knees, then pushed it down a little again. “Kale picked me out right away as a new kid, new sub. I was fifteen, when I presented. Almost sixteen, though, and I used that a lot to get into parties and stuff. He and the guys, they gave me a couple drinks, told me they'd make sure everything went okay at school. It was... actually, it was kind of cool,” he chuckled weakly. “You know?” He shrugged, staring at the corner like it was the most interesting place in the room. “I found out later, Kale was held back a year. He was eighteen, and he had his own car... it kind of felt like having a real dom. He'd pick me up, take me out for burgers sometimes…” He trailed off, forcing himself to glance over at Cas. “The other guys were cool, too, and they would loan me their video games, let me play them at their houses."

His mouth was dry, and his throat made a little clicking sound when he swallowed. "I don't know. It's hard to say when it changed, really." He was trembling now, he could feel it, little minute tremors that shook his whole body. "But one day, Kale and I were hanging out, and he put his hand on my crotch." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "He was really gentle, didn't really do much else except kiss me." He bit his lip, staring down at his hands. "If I had known, I probably wouldn't have said yes. But he asked if I wanted to be his sub. Like. Officially.” He clenched his good hand in the blanket as he remembered that moment, how _awesome_ it had been. “And he was so popular, Cas.” He looked up at Cas again, pleading with his eyes for his dom to understand. “No one would give me a hard time if I was his. So," he shrugged, "it was worth it, to me. I said yes." He shuddered. "It kind of... kind of all went downhill from there. After that, he and I were together all the time." 

Cas couldn't leave the gap between them on the bed a moment longer. He slid over and pulled Dean against him. "Oh, Dean," he said, looking down at his sub’s bowed head. “What happened next?” He knew that this Kale was certainly out of the realm of threatening any longer, the legal ramifications long gone. But that didn't mean that it had been even close to right.

"I turned sixteen that January. We hadn't... done anything, yet, not really. Some handjobs, he, ah, he taught me,” Dean flushed deeply, “to blow him. But the guys said they were going to throw me a birthday party, just for me." He forced his voice not to shake. "I hadn't ever had a birthday party just for me,” he crossed his arms protectively. “Not since I was like, little, you know? So I went over to Kale's house... We were alone. Just me and the guys. His parents were out."

Oh God. The nausea was rising up again, but now that he'd started, he didn't want to stop. He couldn't imagine trying to talk about this _again_. He just wanted it _out_. Consequences be damned. "They said we were going to do a scene. A special scene, just for us. So... well, what was I gonna say? They were doing it just for me.” Dean closed his eyes tightly against the memories rising up in his brain. The phantom feeling of their hands ghosted across his skin, and he clung to Cas desperately. He wanted any anchor to reality he could find. “It was... It was so fucking bad, Cas," he whispered hoarsely. Dean turned his face against his dom's chest, fighting the urge to vomit again. He could feel Cas shaking under him, and he knew that it was bad. It was really bad. "I wasn't going to be with all of them, but... they said it was a special day. And they were so much bigger than I was. I didn't want to lose Kale, either... he said he cared about me." 

"Oh, Dean," Cas' voice shook, broken. He'd known, logically, that it had to be bad. There was no way that it wouldn't be. But Dean had always been so blasé about his past, Cas couldn't imagine that something so awful could have happened to him. Not really. "I... I am so sorry that happened to you," he whispered, kissing Dean's temple softly. "And I can see better now why you would have... some issues trusting."

Dean snorted bitterly, "Yeah... something like that." He shook his head. "The rest of that year, I came when they called. They said if I didn't, if I wasn't... where they wanted me, when they called, that they would tell everyone in school what a whore I was.” He spoke as steadily as he could, taking a deep shaking breath. “Sometimes...” His voice trembled. Fuck. The tears were welling up, and he scrubbed roughly at his eyes. He didn’t want Cas to see him cry. “Sometimes there were more of them. Sometimes there were _a lot_ of them. But... usually it was Kale, and the two guys from the team." He shook his head. "I never thought... I was so _careful_ , I thought John never found out... but... then at the table... he said..." the nausea finally won, and Dean scrambled to the side of the bed to vomit noisily onto the floor. The flare of pain as his leg jerked and twisted making the nausea that much worse, and by the time he rolled back onto his back, panting and heaving, he was sobbing, too.

Cas rubbed his shoulders while he vomited, and when Dean rolled back, he shook his head. "Oh, My Dean," he whispered. "I am so sorry." He knew there was nothing else that he could say that could even begin to make it better, but he also knew that Dean didn't need platitudes. What he needed was to know that _nothing_ had changed. Cas was still his dom, still loved him. Even if he hadn't said the words yet.

Cas stretched out beside him, stroking his hair back from his face. "Come here, Dean," he said quietly, holding out his arms. He knew Dean needed to rinse his mouth out. He needed to clean up the vomit from the floor. But now? This moment? Dean needed _him_. He pulled Dean into his arms and his sub came willingly. He kissed Dean's forehead, sweaty now from the aftermath of throwing up, and shook his head. "It will be all right, Dean," he murmured quietly. "I'm right here... I'm here, and I won't be leaving you. I promise."

Dean shuddered, burying his face against Cas' chest. He didn't know if he could trust that, but God... he wanted to. He wanted to, so badly. With another shuddering breath, he gave himself up into his dom's arms. The rest could come later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Dean was finally sleeping, Cas rolled out of the bed. He slid out carefully, so as not to disturb his boyfriend's rest. He knew that he wouldn't be sleeping for the rest of the night. He was too disturbed by what he'd heard. Instead, he quietly cleaned up the mess beside the bed and turned to pad out into the living room. As usual, when he was upset, he pulled out his sketchpad and charcoal. He loved to paint, but painting in the middle of the night was often counterproductive. He could sketch, though, and sketching would have to be enough.

Closing his eyes, he focused on the image of Dean, spread out on the bed. Safe and warm, his arm pillowing his head and his hair fanned out across it. He smiled at the thought. Carefully, he began to sketch out the outline. Dean was beautiful, without a doubt. He was the most beautiful man Cas had ever seen, and once again, he wondered how anyone could possibly want to cause him pain. 

The man on the paper began to take form, spreading out on the bed. It was an intimate picture. Cas doubted that many had been given the opportunity to see Dean sleep, let alone with enough regularity to begin to draw it from memory. Dean loved to sleep on his stomach. His biggest gripe since he'd broken his leg, much to Cas' chagrin, was that he had to sleep on his back to make the pillows propping up his leg work. Cas laughed softly to himself, even in his complaining, Dean made sure that it was nothing too serious.

In the picture, Dean was cushioned on his stomach, leaving his face in profile. The speckling of soft freckles, a teasing set of marks that Cas always longed to trace with fingers or tongue, left Dean looking even younger in the picture. Cas continued down his body, outlining his strong back, with sloping shoulders and bulging forearms. Dean did physical labor, and more often than not Cas caught him in the mornings doing upper body workouts as well. He hadn't said so out loud, but Cas could see how the forced time in the chair was leaving him feeling vulnerable and weak. Not that Dean was ever either of those things, but that didn't change his perception.

The blanket Cas drew bunched around Dean's waist, as though it had slid down in his sleep. The skin left exposed was littered with scars in real life, and Cas hesitated as he set down his charcoal and lifted his pencil to begin to draw them in. He knew Dean was self-conscious about his scars, but that didn't mean that it was right to ignore them. No, overcoming those scars, wherever they'd come from, was part of what made Dean so strong. Cas was so proud of him, and he couldn't bring himself to diminish that by leaving the scars out. Even if he never intended Dean to see this picture, perhaps especially then.

He guessed one was caused by a belt. It was long and thin, and parallel in a way that only the most skillful whip user could manage. A few looked like tears. He wasn't sure if they were perhaps claws, or a knife. Being no kind of nurse, Cas had no idea what the injuries could have been to cause those. He turned his mind away from such uncomfortable thoughts by drawing the swell of Dean's ass under the blanket. Dean's ass was one of his favorite parts of his boyfriend's body, though he thought Dean would probably blush and refuse to acknowledge how well shaped it was. But his daily walk to work, and all the work he did with his legs, had left it very nice indeed. He smiled at the thought of getting to explore it more thoroughly, and hoped that a day would soon come when Dean would feel comfortable allowing Cas to engage him that way.

Down beneath the blanket, Cas drew the bulky casts. They, too, were marks of how strong Dean was. He'd come through the surgery just fine, and Cas had no doubt that as soon as he was allowed to begin physical therapy, Dean would throw himself into it with a fervor in order to regain his health as quickly as possible. Thank God for Mal, and his quick thinking. The man had taken care of ensuring that the insurance would pay everything Dean needed until he was back on his feet, but that didn't mean that Dean hadn't been worried about it.

Cas looked at the picture, and a feeling of whimsy flooded through him. Dean. His beautiful, perfect Dean. If only he could manage to convince his boyfriend to look at himself as he saw him. He lifted the pencil again, and began to draw long, sweeping strokes. The pencil was intentionally kept light, barely visible. It was a good skill to practice, to make intentional marks that seemed almost invisible, a trick of the light. 

Slowly, slowly the wings took shape. Angel. Yes, that might be the name that Dean had for him, but Cas knew that it was more than that. Dean was _his_ angel. Without Dean, he knew that he would be stuck in a boring rut. Jess and Sam were wonderful friends, but Cas was quiet and a homebody. He would not have done well without a _reason_ to branch out. 

But Dean? 

Dean was a breath of fresh air, who never demanded more than he could give. Cas knew that Dean would be just as happy to sit home and watch movies as he would be to go out to the cinema, or to read in the bed as happily as to go to the library. Dean was going to challenge both of them, to stretch their comfort zones while still knowing that neither would judge the other for their desire to perhaps play it safe for a night.

Finally satisfied with the way the wing's shadows played across the blanket, Cas set the sketchbook down. Drawing, as it always did, had leeched the tension from his muscles and he stretched with a small smile. Yes, Dean was a beautiful man, and he knew that it was only a matter of time until his boyfriend would overcome his demons. And until that day, Cas was determined to be by his side, cheering him on. Nodding decisively, Cas turned and went back to bed.

"Good night, Pretty," he whispered, sliding in between the sheets. Outside, the gray light of dawn was climbing over the horizon. Cas pulled Dean against his chest and settled in to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oreos are a registered trademark of Nabisco co. I do not own Oreos. I did not invent them. I do not even have any in my cabinet. But. Hmm... Mm... Oreos...


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, here's the next chapter! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and as always, thanks to Lisa for the beta! Hope you're all still enjoying!
> 
> Dare

"So you're coming out Friday?" Sam juggled the phone against his ear as he continued packing his lunch. He planned to spend the morning and afternoon in town before his classes that evening, and their budget really didn’t allow for much eating out. "I know Dean doesn't want you to stay with him, but I'm sure you'd be welcome to come and see him. He'd love to have you around at least a little. You can always stay with me and Jess."

Mary's warm chuckle from the other end of the line was a welcome sound. "Thanks, Sam," she said, and the smile carried across the space just as well as it did when he could see her. "I know Dean doesn’t want me to stay with him.” She sighed softly; a little bit of her frustration seeping in. “Actually, he’s told me that he doesn’t want me to come at all. But I have to come. He’s been having a really tough couple weeks, and I’ve given him his space, but he has a family now. He doesn’t need to do it alone.”

"Man, a ‘tough couple of weeks’... that is the understatement of a century," Sam said with a chuckle. "Look... Actually, mom, before you come out... I've been meaning to ask you. Have you heard of any connections to John and this part of the country? I mean, at all? Because he said some hunting buddy hooked him up with this house, and I’d really like to find out who it was. Dean says John is renting it." He shrugged again and picked up the sandwich he'd been creating, shoving it into a bag. "And I'd really like to find out who he's renting it from. Maybe we can come up with a way to buy it outright for Dean. Well, I mean. I'm sure we can find a way to help Dean save for it." He was certain that his brother wouldn't take kindly to them buying his house for him, even if it was done with the best of intentions.

"I haven't, really, but you know I'll look into it." Mary's voice hardened. "I don't want Dean beholden to that man any more than absolutely necessary. So yeah, I'll see what I can find out."

"Awesome. Thanks, mom." Sam plucked a single serving size bag of chips out of the pantry, adding them to his bag beside an apple. Jess liked it when he ate a balanced lunch, and he liked it when Jess was happy. "That would really make a difference."

"I agree. The sooner we can kick John's ass out of here, the better." Mary's kitchen noises whirred in the background, and Sam chuckled. 

"Mom, are you still baking?" His whole life, his mom’s baking had been an old standby. Whenever he was sick, or when finals came around, their kitchen had smelled the best in the whole neighborhood. Since Dean’s accident, she’d been baking every time they spoke, which seemed pretty excessive to him. "You don't honestly think they'll let you bring them all on the plane, do you?"

"Well, I'm damn sure going to try!" Mary scraped some more cookie batter noisily out of the bowl and then rattled the cookie sheets as she loaded them into the oven. "Your brother deserves whatever he can get. And anyway, if I'm not going to be allowed to help, at _least_ I can bring cookies."

Sam laughed as he tossed his lunch bag into his backpack and headed for the door. "Well, that's true. Anyway, they say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, and I think for Dean that's doubly true." He grinned and started down the street. "Wait until you see his library, mom. You're going to be so impressed." He was headed to the hall of records to see what he could find out about the owner of Dean's house. If they were going to try and buy it, they needed an idea of what was legally going on.

"I can imagine. Can't be more than Bobby Singer's, though. You know, your grandpa has a great library. But I don't think I ever found a better one than the one Singer had." Sam could hear her shaking her head across the airwaves. He’d never met Bobby Singer, but his grandfather’s stories had featured the ‘young hothead’ prominently. "Sometimes I wonder what happened to that old bastard. But after your father and I split up, I really quit talking to that part of the community. Stuck closer to home." She sighed softly. "Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't look some of them up." 

"Could be worthwhile," Sam agreed. "If you did, we could be one step closer to knocking John out forever." He chuckled softly, though he knew it was more than that. You had to _really_ be a crazy bastard to kicked out of the hunting community. Most of the community was pretty forgiving of... idiosyncrasies. After all, their life work was _based_ on seeming crazy to the rest of the world. There were few transgressions severe enough to get you excommunicated.

"That's true," Mary agreed. The oven timer chirped cheerily as Mary set it, and the oven closed with a bang. "Well, maybe you can talk to Dean, convince him to let me start working on the rest of the hunters."

"Yeah, maybe." Sam sighed, searching for a change of topic. He hated to leave his mom on a negative. "So... Happier stuff." He grinned. "What about Christmas? I mean, I know it's not even Halloween yet, but I really can't wait to see Grandma and Grandpa." He crossed the street. "D' you think they'll mind that we're bringing all these boyfriends and girlfriends home this year?"

"What?” Mary sounded distracted; the sound of pages turning told Sam she was working on her next treat. “Oh, you know they love it. They already know Jess, and anyway, I thought Cas was planning on spending Christmas with us this year, since his brother is going to be out of the country?"

"Well, yeah.” Sam shrugged awkwardly. “But it's not like before. I mean, he’s not a roommate, he’s Dean’s _dom_. And the whole thing with Dean’s accident, and the whole thing with John? This is a big step. And Dean is only just going to be back on his feet by Christmas, you know? If we're lucky."

"All the more reason for him to get inducted into a full Campbell Christmas," Mary said with a bright grin. "Now. I know you've got lots to get to today, and I've got to grade some papers so I can pass my class off to the substitute for next week. So you have a good day, and I'll text you when I know what time my flight is getting in, alright?"

"Sounds great, mom. Love you. Give gramma and grandpa my best, okay?"

"Of course," Mary agreed. "Love you, too, Sam... I'll talk to you later. Bye."

They hung up, and Sam pocketed his phone. Not a moment too soon, either. He could see the doors of the town hall looming ahead of him. It would have been _so_ much easier to do his research at home, but the bureau of housing didn’t publish what he needed to know online. “Right… In, out, and out to finish homework,” he muttered to himself as he mounted the steps. He had a list of things to find out; the purchase price of Dean's house, and it's current market value, and how long the dude had owned it. All that would be ammunition for when they got Dean started to buy it. Sam glanced at his watch. Quarter past nine, plenty of time before lunch. After that, he had to go to the library and get started on the paper for his law class, so he really didn't want to linger.

"Hi there." He pushed the door open, and smiled at the clerk sitting behind the desk. "I was wondering if you could help me with some research I need to do, about a house over on third street?"

The clerk looked up at him sourly. "Any information about houses all need to be looked up on the database." She pointed a gnarled finger at the computer kiosk across the lobby. "Look there first. If, and only if, you cannot find the information you need, can I help you." She promptly turned back to her computer, leaving Sam to blink bemusedly at her for a moment. Then he carried his backpack across the lobby and set it at his feet, beginning to type. The kiosk was deadly slow, and he heaved a sigh. Maybe this was going to take longer than he had originally thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I thought I told her that she didn't need to come?" Dean frowned, shaking his head. "Cas, didn't I tell her she didn't need to come?" He hadn’t invited Mary, and it was more than a little disconcerting to think that she felt the need to uproot herself, on a _whim_ , just to come take care of him. Ridiculous!

Castiel smiled mildly. "She is your mother, Dean," he said, rubbing his sub's shoulders. "She wants to come and see you, and do what she can to help you." Dean didn’t understand how he didn’t think it was ridiculous at all, but that was Cas for you. His dom’s voice firmed. "And she deserves her chance to confront John, if he decides to show his face again." Castiel looked over at Sam, where he sat across the table.

“I told you, Cas, he split town. If he was still around, you would’a seen him a long time ago.” Dean shook his head. “No, he split a long time ago. An’ that’s beside the point. Listen, I know that mom’s… pissed.”

“Pissed?” Sam cut in, incredulous. “Dean, she thought you were _dead_. I think _pissed_ is the understatement of a century.” He shook his head. “Look. She just got you back and now you’re in a _wheelchair_.” He frowned deeply, reaching for Dean when his brother frowned as though he was about to start in again. “She’s just worried about you. Let her come for a couple of days, fuss over you a bit, and then she’ll go home.”

Dean still looked ready to start in again, so Cas placed a gentle hand on his forearm. "Regardless, I believe that Sam had something else to talk to us about?"

"Uh, yeah. I did." Sam leaned back in his chair, settling at the table. "So... I've been doing some research. About the house." He was hesitant to bring it up, because he knew that Dean was very touchy about money. That didn’t change the fact that Dean deserved to own his own space, and not be forever worried about John yanking it out from under him.

"I was doing some research about the house. It was sold several years ago, but I couldn't get the deed." He wrinkled his nose. "I just know that it changed hands. I'm working on finding out where it went. I guess whoever bought it was still a hunter, though." He crossed his hands on his knee. "Do you have any idea who might have bought it?"

Dean frowned. "No. Last I heard, the same guy owned it as when I first moved in." He tapped his hand on his knee, staring at his fingers. "I don't know how they would have sold it and not _told_ me." But really, it made sense. If it was a hunter owned house, someone might be passing it around to keep it off of the grid.

"Well, I'll tell you Dean, someone bought it. It looks like it would have been... Actually, right around the time that you moved in?" Sam's voice was tentative, but thinking back, it seemed like the timeline fit. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure, since he didn’t really know when Dean moved in, but it seemed like a valid guess.

Before Dean could answer there was a knock on the door, and Dean jumped. He flushed deeply, embarrassed for showing that bit of weakness, even in front of only his dom and Sam. Cas set a gentling hand on his shoulder, glancing at his watch. "I believe that is Jessica," he said, smiling slightly. "She said she was going to come see us after she got off work.” He crossed the room, eager to see his roommate. He saw less and less of Sam and Jess, now that he was staying with Dean, and midterms were approaching.

"Hello, Jess… oh! Is that pizza?" They came into the kitchen, Jess still in her black uniform shirt and carrying two pizza boxes. "Where did you get that?"

"My friend Steve at the Hut," Jess said with a shrug. "He was getting off shift when I did, but his last delivery was a bust. Whoever ordered it said they were made wrong. Steve didn't want them, but he said we could have them." She set the pizzas on the table. "One Hawaiian and one meat supreme. No idea what the guy thought was wrong with them."

Dean grinned, the anxiety from earlier gone in the face of pizza. "Well, their loss is our gain," he said. Cas crossed the room to pull out the plates, shooting Dean a look when he went to follow. With Dean's hand injury, it was much more difficult for him to maneuver all on his own, and Cas didn't want him to hurt himself by trying to wheel in the tight kitchen space. Dean wrinkled his nose, but subsided.

"How was class, Jess?" He turned his attention to Jessica, as she settled down at the table. "Learn anything cool?" He still had a hard time believing that he was sort of related to a sub in Stanford's premed program. She was something crazy smart, for sure. 

"Oh, about the usual.” Jess leaned back in the chair with a groan of pleasure. “Some of our professors are dicks, but we have Professor Tran as our new advisor, and she’s actually really cool. She's a switch, and you know there aren’t many switch docs.” She took the beer Sam passed her with a nod, and leaned up to accept the kiss he dropped on her lips with a smile. “She really cares more about our work than our designation; I’m not sure she even knows I’m a sub.” Her satisfaction at that thought was clear. “We all have to wear lab coats whenever we’re in her lab. Sometimes her son, Kevin, comes to hang out in her office after school. He’s a pretty smart kid, and a sub. I think he's going to be a doctor just because his mother said so." She laughed. "Sounds like most of us, to be honest."

"Well, that's good," Sam said, settling next to her as he finished passing around the beer. Root beer, in Dean’s case."I know you've talked about her before. I really hope we get to meet her sometime."

"Yeah, I'd like to let you meet her," Jess agreed. "Probably when we're at our faculty and student dinner at the end of the semester. She's a pretty neat lady." She took a plate when Cas passed it across to her, and pulled out a piece of pizza. She grinned at the stretch of cheese as she slapped the slice of Hawaiian on her plate.

"Man, fruit does _not_ belong on pizza." Dean frowned exaggeratedly. "Your friend was wrong to give you that, because geeze, not right. Right up there with vegetables." He shook his head. "So how about you stick a piece of meat lover on here for me? That's the only thing that belongs on a pizza."

"You certainly have some strong opinions about pizza," Cas said teasingly, settling down next to Dean and serving each of them a slice of meat lover's pizza.

"Well, yeah, Cas. I mean, really, that's a no-brainer. And anyway, I see that you didn't give yourself any of that fruit pizza." He laughed, leaning back. It was harder to eat pizza one handed than it looked. "Mm. Jess, tell your friend thanks from me, yeah?" He took a big bite, groaning. He was careful not to get the grease on the gauze; dressing changes should be avoided as long as possible, in his opinion. "Do I have to change this today?" He asked around a mouthful, gesturing with his injured hand.

"Yes, Dean," Jess affirmed, raising an eyebrow at him. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "Does it still feel okay? No stitches pulling?" 

"No, no, it feels okay. Just kind of tight." Dean sighed, holding up his hand out of the way while he chowed down on the pizza. It was easier to pretend he wasn't worried about everything going on when there was pizza to be had. "So... Mom's coming down Friday..." He took a deep breath, biting his lip. "She's staying with you, right Sammy? There really isn't space for her here."

"Yeah, I told her that she could stay with us. She's just coming down for a long weekend, Dean.” Sam bit back an exasperated sigh, reminding himself that Dean really wasn’t used to people caring about him. “Don't worry about it too much. She wants to see you and be sure that you're healing up okay. Then she'll leave. I have it on good authority that she's bringing cookies."

Dean laughed, relaxing a little. "Well that does sound good.” 

He took another bite, but startled again when his cell phone rang. "Mm... Who's that?" Most of the people who ever called him on the phone were sitting with him at the table. He wiped his hand awkwardly on his pants then squirmed in his chair until he could get to his pocket. He managed to swipe the call open on the last ring. "Mm, Mal? Hi," he held the phone up to his ear awkwardly, not used to conversations with other people around. "Yeah... Nice to talk to you, too. No... I'm okay. Cas is taking really good care of me. Yeah, he's right here." He grinned, a blush coloring his cheeks. 

Sam made a kissy face at him, and Dean propped the phone to his ear so he could flip him off with his good hand. 

"Yeah, he's been cooking and stuff. No... We're just eating dinner." He leaned back, licking his lips. It felt good to talk to Mal. More than his boss, Mal was almost like the big brother Dean had used to dream of. He’d been such a big part of Dean’s life since he moved to Stanford that not seeing him every day felt like something was missing. Dean missed him. "Well... Mom's coming on Friday, if you wanted to come, you guys could maybe do dinner with us?" He grinned. “Well, great! Like… six, if you want. Ok. Great. See you then.’

Dean hung up the phone and smiled faintly as he squirmed and put the phone back in his pocket. "Mal's gonna come over for dinner Friday." Now that he and Mal weren’t on the phone any more, the enormity of what he’d offered was hitting him. Mal and Sue had never been _in_ his house before; there had always been too much to hide. He pushed aside the instinctive discomfort he felt at the thought. There were going to be so many people at his house, something he was certainly not used to. He took a deep breath and a huge bite of pizza. It was only because he was able to say that his visitors were going to be friends and family that he could even consider at all the prospect of his home being invaded that way.

"Oh, wonderful!" Cas grinned. "I look forward to meeting him properly. At the hospital we were all quite... Stressed. As you would well imagine." He chewed his pizza thoughtfully. "And with Mary here, well, it will be quite a party!" He had to admit that he was looking forward to Mary's return. He thought, privately of course, that Dean needed his mother's influence. Mary was a switch, and was able to show that the submissive side of Dean was not something to be ashamed of. Dean had precious few role models that way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Friday morning, Dean rolled up in the bed, biting his lip. "Cas. Hey Cas." He realized that he hadn't refreshed, well, _any_ of his runes. Mary was coming, but worse, _Mal_ was coming. What if he came in and saw a rune that Dean couldn't explain? His stomach roiled. "Cas, wake up."

His dom was a much slower riser, but rise he did. "What is it, Dean? Is there something wrong?" He still sounded groggy, and Dean felt a momentary pang of remorse for waking him up. But the fear in his gut didn't feel that pang, so he just shook his head. "We've gotta tidy up. There's still stuff Mal shouldn't see. I might... I might need you to go shopping." He really hated the idea of being alone. The others had been very careful not to leave Dean on his own. At first it had rankled, especially since Dean didn’t think John was even in town any more, but he was still acutely aware that he only had one hand, not even his legs, to defend himself with. He still protested, for appearances sake, but it was nice to know that Cas and the others cared.

"Mm... What for?" Cas sat up, stretching and yawning. He was growing used to Dean making these proclamations with no lead up, but that didn't mean that he was always able to follow the twists and turns of his boyfriend's mind when he was first waking up. "What do you need?"

"We need to touch up my sigils," Dean said, frowning. "Mary's going to be here and I don't want her to think I'm sloppy." After all, she hadn't gotten to see inside Dean's house the last time. "And then I need you to go to the store. Any store, I don't care. But I need posters to cover the big ones on the walls. I mean... Mal wouldn't understand, and I really don't need to try to explain this stuff."

Cas blinked slowly. "Could we not ask Jessica or Sam to bring some posters when they come over?" He really didn't relish leaving Dean alone, either, especially not with him being down a hand now as well. "As far as touching up the runes, well, that I can do." He grinned. "You are, after all, dating a painter."

Dean smiled despite himself. "Yes, I am. Thanks, for that Cas." It was a relief to know that he didn't have to worry about that part. From the wheelchair it would be quite a challenge to reach some of the higher parts of the runes. Cas would be able to get to any of them himself, which would mean that Dean didn't have to worry about stretching up to get the lines just right.

"Alright, well. We apparently have a lot left to do, so I propose that we get to it. After all, Mary lands at five." 

Dean nodded. "I still can't believe that she's coming all this way just because I broke my legs," he said, a touch surprised, "I mean, what's she going to do? She can't fix me."

Cas sighed softly as he slid out of bed and went to position Dean's wheelchair so that his sub could transfer over into it. He wished that he could see his own worth as clearly as those around him could, but he knew that was only a matter of time. "Dean, your mother loves you very much. Truly, it was all that Sam could do to convince her not to fly down here the first moment that she learned you were injured."

He held out his arms so he could help Dean with the transfer, which was a much more difficult proposition now that he couldn't push up effectively with both hands. "So please, try to believe that we all love you very much, and are willing to do what we can to help you?" He knew it was going to be a while before he could convince Dean that he _was_ loved and _was_ cared for. But he couldn’t imagine anything he could find more important.

"Yeah, yeah. You keep saying that," Dean said. His voice wasn't sour, but he was certainly not a hundred percent believing Cas, either. "But I don't know what that has to do with anything." He let Cas help him into the chair, only making one small face at his own inability to complete something as basic as standing to turn into a chair. "C'mon. I'll show you where I keep the paint. It's pretty cool stuff." He began to roll out of the room, slowly and awkwardly, toward the hall closet. "I designed it myself. It has little iron shavings and salt actually dissolved in it. It can make for a little bit lumpy first couple of strokes, but I think it makes the runes that much stronger."

"Interesting." Cas allowed the change of topic, knowing how uncomfortable Dean was at the best of times with too much attention. "So you designed the paint yourself, based on your learning... Have you shared this knowledge with the other hunters?" He kept his voice as neutral as possible, though he was quite proud of Dean. After all, it wasn't every day that your boyfriend practically revolutionizes... well. Cas was sure that there was some kind of term for 'rune writing' that was actually used by hunters. But, of course, Dean shook his head. 

"No... I mean, I got the idea from talking to my Uncle Bobby, about a million years ago. He's about the only guy I would have shared it with, because other hunters listen to him. But after I presented, he quit talking to me, like, cold turkey." He pointed up the shelf where Cas could get the paint and brushes down. "He doesn't deal with subs, John said. So I wasn't going to force myself on him, you know? It's just like... Not worth it." He shrugged, pushing down the pang he always had when he thought about Uncle Bobby. "So I just let it be. Anyway, for most places, the best thing is to use spray paint anyway. It's faster and easier. But this is better for permanent structures. Once you lay it down, it holds better and it's got build in protections against breaking down."

"Oh, very interesting!" Cas said as he pulled out the paint and brushes. "Well, I look forward to learning more of the runes from you. Sam has shown me a few, but I don't know what most of them are or what they're for."

"Well... You're in for a lucky day," Dean said as he resumed their slow travel into the living room. "I'll go over what I can with you, and I’m sure I've got a book you can borrow... somewhere."

“Oh, wonderful,” he agreed. Cas leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “You are so creative, Dean. I look forward to learning.” He ignored Dean’s splutter and blush in favor of starting to shake the paint can to mix everything together. “Why don’t you text Sam while I mix the paint? I’m sure that he will bring us some posters to cover the sigils.”

“Yeah… that’s a good idea.” Dean didn’t know what kind of posters Sammy would get, but he awkwardly texted one handed anyway, to let his brother know that he needed a hand. Sam texted back a smiley face, and a promise that he’d stop over on his way to get Mary from the airport.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The morning passed quickly as Dean and Cas finished repainting the glyphs. After a quick shower, Dean headed into the kitchen and began to prep as much for dinner as he could. Cas had to do most of the washing, but Dean found he could cut, if not a very efficient dice, so he began to prepare the salad.

Sam and Jess appeared with a bag full of rolled posters just after lunch. “I just grabbed a bunch from Walmart,” Sam said apologetically as he passed them across the table to Dean. “I hope they’re okay.” 

At the bottom of the bag was a pack of blutak, so Cas could stick the pictures over the runes when they were fully dry. Dean unrolled the first poster; it was a big Chevy truck, covered in mud. Dean chuckled. There were several more, including a Led Zep poster that Dean would happily have bought for himself, and a Fall Out Boy poster that had Dean rolling his eyes. “Of course you would…” He snorted when Sam just grinned at him, and passed the posters over to Cas.

“Mom gets in around five,” Sam said, spinning his chair around and straddling the back. “So we’ll get her and bring her by. We’ll man the grill, like I said… We’ll probably stop at the store on the way over from the airport, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” Dean looked down at the list he had sitting on the table as he checked off what still needed to be done. “I’m making the barbeque sauce, and I have the salad, but if you wanna pick up the pork chops, that would be great.”

“Sure, Dean, that’s not a problem. You said seven people, right?” Sam stood up and spun his chair back into place, tucking it under the table so it wouldn’t get in Dean’s way.

“Yeah, plus a few extra. I know Cas can sure handle his meat.” He grinned lasciviously as Sam pulled a face.

“Ew! Dean, just… Ew. I can’t believe you said that. You know what? I’m leaving. Bye.” He scrunched up his nose and fled for the door, leaving Dean and his laughter behind to supervise hanging up the posters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The posters were hung, and after a little bit of concerted effort, the living room was safe for civilian consumption. Their bedroom was another matter, but they could clean that out later. Dean rubbed a sweaty palm on his knee and rolled back into the kitchen. He busied himself with the sauce as he fought not to think about Mal maybe seeing something he shouldn’t. What if he missed something? He stirred the sauce more quickly. Shit, were all the shotgun rounds put away?

His anxious cycling was broken when the doorbell rang. Dean looked up at Cas, who was chopping the potatoes for Sam to cook in their foil pouch dinners. "Hey, babe, could you get that? That's probably Mal." He was in the middle of stirring the barbeque sauce on the stove, and didn’t really want to try and maneuver out of the kitchen. Given his hand and general position in the chair, it was the only way he could participate in the production of dinner, so he didn't want to give it up.

Cas set his knife down, smiling. "Of course." He bent to kiss Dean's forehead before he padded across the floor. Dean heard the door opening, and then... "Can I help you?" 

That was strange; Cas and Mal hadn't really met properly, of course, but Dean knew that his dom knew who Mal was and what he looked like. Generally most people didn't bother Dean, since he kept his house just on this side of disrepair, so he knew that it was unlikely to be some kind of salesman or something. The 'no solicitation' signs everywhere made a good job of that, as well. 

"I'm looking for Dean." The gruff voice that carried through the living room sent a bolt of shock through Dean, and he dropped the spoon into the pot with a clatter. He'd recognize that voice anywhere, even though it had been literally years since he'd heard it. 

"Give me a moment," Cas said, all business. "Dean is... Otherwise occupied." He could be heard clearly as he shuffled his feet a little bit on the other side of the door. "And who are you?" He certainly was not going to allow just anyone into Dean's house uninvited, after all.

"Y' can tell him it's Bobby... I... Tell him I need to talk to him, would yeh?"


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to everyone who has commented! I know I haven't responded to all of you individually yet, but I really do read every comment and appreciate all of them! It's great to know people are still enjoying this fic!
> 
> This chapter was a monster, and ultimately I had to make some tough choices... You'll see the rest of what was in here in the next update. 
> 
> Thanks, as always, to Lisa for proof reading and butt kicking, as needed. This story is so much better for her support.
> 
> Without further adieu, let's jump in!

Dean’s head swam. After he presented, and John told him not to bother calling, he’d assumed he’d never hear that gruff voice again.The door closed with a thump, and a moment later, Cas reappeared in the kitchen. "Dean? There is a man here to see you. He says that his name is Bobby, but I have never seen him." He trailed off. "Would you... Like to come out to the living room?" That way, Dean wouldn't have to let a stranger into his house. Cas took in his boyfriend's appearance, and quickly backtracked at the pale face in front of him. "Or I can tell him to leave. That is certainly within your rights." He didn't want to pressure Dean into anything he didn't want to do.

Dean shook his head. "No, I... I want to see him. God. It's just... It's _Bobby_?" An irrational anger was welling up in his chest. It wasn't Bobby's fault that Dean had presented as a sub, after all. So why was he so upset about him showing up? _Not like he abandoned you, idjit,_ Dean thought to himself. _You did a fine job of that all on your own, presenting sub and everything._

"Yes... Very well. " Cas took Dean's chair and turned it toward the door. "I left him on the porch, but I suppose we ought to go and let him in." He turned the chair a little more to scoot past the table, and pushed Dean through the doorway into the living room. He parked the chair next to the couch and watched as Dean took a deep breath. At his sub's nod, he opened the door.

"Please come in,' he said, as cordially as possible. That wasn't very much, unfortunately. Anyone who put a look like that on Dean's face was not someone that he took kindly to, despite Dean's words. After all, Dean would still happily defend John Winchester to the death, and that man was practically scum of the earth. 

The man on the porch rubbed his feet on the mat, and then carefully stepped over the salt line. "Dean?" His gruff voice sounded surprised; worried. The tone of voice softened Cas’ resolve minutely. John certainly showed no concern for his son when _he_ had arrived. "God, boy, what happened to you?" He took in Dean's predicament, and crossed the floor without further look at Castiel. Cas crossed immediately after him, standing protectively next to Dean. He was more willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt, but he was certainly not giving him a chance to hurt Dean.

"Bobby..." Dean's voice was a little bit gruff. "I could ask you the same thing." He shook his head. "But I guess you're just... still you." He bit his lip, shifting back in the chair as much as he could with only one good hand to push with. "Never thought I'd see you again.” He took a deep breath, refusing to allow the pain simmering inside come to the fore. He glanced up at his dom, still standing over him protectively. “Bobby, this is Cas. Cas, Bobby.” Introductions over, the anger bubbled up again. “What brings you to my door?” His voice didn’t tremble. He wouldn’t let it.

The older hunter nodded briefly at Cas, then refocused on Dean. It seemed as though he had been prepared for that question. “Sam Campbell called me.” His voice was flat, almost intentionally so. He reached up, pulling his ball cap off and squeezing it in his hand. “He was wonderin’ if I had any leads on John Winchester. Said he stole his grandbaby, an’ they just found him.” Bobby looked up, meeting Dean’s eyes. “I only know one John Winchester, and I never saw him with any kid but you.” His voice hardened. “That boy’s death hit them Campbells pretty hard… T’ hear he weren’t dead, that he was living in California, and John was in the wind, well. Not hard t’ put two and two together. I said I’d see what I could do.”

Dean’s heart leapt at the explanation. “Well, I haven’t seen John for,” he hummed. “A while. So I don’t think I have any information for you.” His voice dropped. Of course Bobby only wanted him to see John; probably needed to warn him that Mary’s family was coming for him. If John hadn’t figured that out on his own, though, he wasn’t as smart as Dean always thought. “It’s been a long time, Bobby. Things desperate enough to start working with subs?” He couldn’t help the hurt tone that seeped into his voice. Damn it! 

Bobby was taken aback at the icy, pointed tone. "Start working with subs... What're you on about, boy?" He couldn't help the sharpness that crept into his tone at the verbal attack. "Your daddy told me you went to some fancy dom military prep school out in Lu’siana.” Cas cleared his throat warningly, and Bobby glanced up. Clearly Dean’s protector, whoever he was, didn’t care for him. He tried to modulate his tone. “What the hell’re you doin' in California?"

Cas set a hand on Dean's shoulder, a comment on his protectiveness, should his sub need him for that. "You are a guest here, sir," he said, his voice chilly. "I would thank you to keep your tone civil, or I will have to ask you to leave." 

Dean’s head swam. Bobby thought he was a dom? But why would he quit talking to him if he thought he was a dom? He vaguely noted Cas’ tone, and he reached his good hand up to touch his dom’s fingers. "No, no, it's okay, Cas," Dean said soothingly. 

He looked up at Bobby, who was bristling at Cas' tone. The older man’s anger made his stomach twist; being in the chair left him feeling vulnerable in ways that he didn’t like to examine too closely. "John... Told you that I'm a dom?" He couldn't understand it. To everyone else, he was John's useless sub of a son. Bobby might have cared, but why the hell would he lie like _that_? "I've been out here since my eighteenth birthday. I don't know what the hell school you're talking about, but really... A military prep school, Bobby? You see me in a military prep school?"

The older man's face fell, and he sort of... Sagged. Cas watched in fascination as he lowered himself to the edge of the coffee table, not waiting to be offered a proper seat on the couch. "Damn." His voice was soft. "Damn, damn, _damn!_ I _knew_ that was too good to be true!" He looked up at Dean, and this time his face was sad. "Your daddy told me when you were fifteen that you wanted a real job. That you were tired of the life, and wanted out." He reached up, scrubbing a hand through his hair and then twisting his cap between his hands before tugging it back on almost violently. "He told me you wanted to prepare for something that you could use. So he found you some scholarship for a school for doms down south, somewhere with an ROTC program that would get you into college, pay your bills." He clenched a fist on his lap, shaking his head. "He said they were real strict, and didn't allow no phone calls, but he'd have you write to me."

Dean barked a laugh; it was bitter, and hurt, but not nearly as angry as it had been just a little while ago. "Like hell he would have let me out of the life," he said, shaking his head. "Until I _didn't_ want to go. And then he booted my ass. Ditched me here, without so much as a by-your-leave.” He fought the edge of hurt that was creeping in again. “But he said I was at _school_ , and you believed him?" _Of course he did_ , John’s poisonous voice muttered in his head. _Why wouldn’t he? Not like you were any use anyway._

"Well, what was I supposed to do?” Bobby’s voice had lost the anger and taken on a hint of despair. “I looked up the school, they looked legit. And then you started writin' to me. Not often, just every coupl'a months.” He shrugged, and looked up at Dean again. “So I figured, well, you must be gettin' what you wanted out of life. I wrote back a few times, asked if you were sure. Actually offered to let you come stay with me. But you said you were fine, didn't wanna leave. So I figgered you knew your mind, and I... I let you be."

The older man's words sounded truthful, and Dean's stomach twisted. John was such an asshole… He startled a little at the thought, but this time the rush of anger was aimed firmly at his father. Dean had loved Bobby; the older dom had taken real good care of him when he was a kid. Any time that he showed up on Bobby's doorstep, he'd known that he'd have a full stomach, a warm bed, and a hot shower. Bobby’s abandonment had hit almost harder than John’s, if only because it was so unexpected. Bobby had never talked about subs the way John did, had never made it seem like he thought they were less than. For the first time, Dean questioned if that was because he didn’t think they were? His anger deflated. "Yeah... John's pretty damn good at making sure no one gets what he wants. But... I don't get it. Why'd he tell you that?"

"I dunno," Bobby said, shrugging. "I just suggested that maybe you take a summer, come stay with me. Said I'd teach you some of the basics 'bout huntin', some research facts... But he said real quick that you wanted out of the life, and that was that." 

"Lemme guess," Dean said, bitterness back. "It woulda been right after my fifteenth birthday?"

"Uh, yeah, pretty close to that," Bobby agreed. "I figgered that the first year of high school was as good a year as any to start teaching you about research." He shifted on the hard edge of the table. "You think..." He narrowed his eyes. "That bastard. He told me you presented as a dom, but you didn't, did you?"

Dean shook his head. Suddenly nervous, he lifted his right wrist, to show off his cuff there. "Nope. I'm a sub. And this is Cas." He nodded to his boyfriend, still hovering protectively behind him. "He's my soulmate. Never had a dom take such good care of me." He said it defiantly, as though daring Bobby to say something, anything, to warrant being kicked out of the house. But Bobby just smiled. 

"I can tell he cares about you a lot," he agreed, his voice a little warmer. “I’m glad y’ found him.”

"I certainly do," Cas said, squeezing Dean's shoulder. "And you would do well to remember that, sir." He extended a hand, still formal and stiff. “Castiel Novak."

"Bobby Singer," Bobby said, shaking Cas' hand firmly. "Castiel… That's a hell of a mouthful." He looked back over at Dean, frowning a little bit. "So... If y' weren't in a military academy that didn't allow phone calls, why didn't you ever ring me? You know how to reach me!"

Dean shook his head. "No... I couldn't. John said that you really didn't like subs, wouldn't work with them. I tried, once, but the line was disconnected. John told me you changed your number." His stomach roiled as he remembered that night; it had been heartbreaking to try and reach Bobby only to hear the familiar dial tone as the number didn't go through.

"What!" Bobby narrowed his eyes in anger. "If I ever get my hands on that man..." He shoved his ballcap back on forcefully. "I _never_ said that, boy, and I never will. Some of the bravest men I know are subs. There's no way in hell I'd ever stop talking to you for somethin’ as dumb as that." He shook his head and sighed. "I owe you an apology, Dean. I shoulda known better than to trust a word about you outta John Winchester's mouth. That man never was no good, that's for sure." 

Dean frowned. "He tried," he said, shaking his head a little bit. "I mean... He's not as bad as everyone thinks." He fell silent when Bobby narrowed his eyes. Much like Mary, it seemed the older hunter wasn't going to let Dean say anything positive about his father.

"That man needs to get his head outta his ass, and focus on hunting. I don't think he has a right to talk about mucha anything else." He shook his head, and then, after scrutinizing Dean for a moment longer, began to roll up his sleeves. "I don't think I would have much room to talk, not talkin' to subs," he said mildly.

Dean gaped openly as Bobby's forearms came into view. He had not one, but _two_ cuffs on. "Bobby... You're a switch?" He couldn't believe it. "But you're always... So.."

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Dominant?" He asked, and this time his voice held a small teasing tint. "Yeah, well, it sure ain't easy working with hunters if you let too much submissive out. But I ain't a dom, boy. Karen was a sub, yeah, and a damn good one." He grinned. "But that didn't mean we didn't have a good time with a couple doms together."

Dean mock gagged. "Oh. Bobby, gross! That's _not_ a mental image I needed! God, old man... That's like talking about my parents gettin' it on!" He hadn't ever met Karen, but he knew the woman gave Bobby a run for his money, and that was enough for him. 

The older hunter laughed, and shook his head. “Well, my point is, Dean, that your designation doesn’t change a damn thing about how good a Hunter you are. Or how good a man you are.”  
Bobby's face grew more somber as he looked Dean over. "Enough about me, what about you?" He indicated the broken legs, with their bulky casts, and the thick gauze wrap over his left hand. "What in blazes did you to do yourself? Takin' somethin' out?"

Disgust at himself twisted in Dean's gut, and he barked out a harsh laugh. "Naw... I'm not in the game anymore, Bobby. No, it was something a lot stupider than that. I was at work.” He shrugged a little bit, a flash of pride cutting through at the mention of the garage. “I work at the local garage, doin' mechanic work.” The anger was almost completely faded now, and he smiled faintly at Bobby. “If I hadn't spent so many summers with you gettin' to know my way around an engine, I don't know _what_ I would be doin' now. So, uh, thanks." He sighed, settling into his chair and glancing up briefly at Cas, who smiled reassuringly. "I was workin' a couple weeks ago, unloading some parts, and I ended up on the wrong side of a teenager's sedan. She hit reverse instead of drive, totally an accident. Shattered my right leg pretty good. The left one isn't so bad, I can bear weight on that one." He gestured to the different bottom on that cast, more built up and solid. "The right one they said I have to keep my weight off of for like, twelve weeks, which _sucks_ , but at least I'll be able to walk again, they think."

Bobby hissed sympathetically. "That's awful, Dean," he said, crossing one booted foot over the other. "And the hand? That looks like it's newer." 

Dean nodded, not really wanting to talk about it but knowing that it would come out anyway so he might as well get it over with. "Yeah, that's newer. Like, a couple days. I was just a dumbass, cut my hand. It's kinda deep though, so Jess, that's Sammy's girl, she stitched it up for me."

Cas narrowed his eyes slightly. "Dean," he practically groaned. "I thought we had discussed this. I do not like it when you speak negatively about my 'mate." He was referring, of course, to Dean's referring to himself as a dumbass. "It was an accident, yes, but it was entirely not your fault." He looked up at Bobby, his harsh opinion of the man fading a little at Dean's obvious excitement and their shared opinions of John Winchester. "John barged in here while I was at the grocery store, picking up some things. He did not approve of Dean's current living arrangements." He narrowed his eyes at the memory. "He startled Dean, causing him to cut himself."

"That bastard's in town? Where is he?" Bobby was on his feet in seconds, and Dean held up his hands. 

"Woah, woah Bobby," he said, shaking his head. "As far as we know, he's gone. Sam and Jess haven't seen the Impala around town at all, and he hasn't made any kind of trouble for me.” He purposely left out their altercation when he had first appeared, ignoring the way Cas’ hand tightened on his shoulder. “As long as we leave him alone, he's leaving us alone for now." Dean frowned. "And anyway, we're not kicking any asses, or anything like that. Whatever he's done, he's still my father."

Bobby frowned, but reluctantly settled back on the coffee table again. “I’m not makin’ any promises about that, Dean,” he said. “If he shows his face, I can’t say I won’t slug him. But I won’t go lookin’ for him. Best I can do.” Much as it galled him to make that offer, he knew Dean was more important to him than anything, including kicking John’s ass.

Dean narrowed his eyes, but finally nodded. Best he would get, he could see that from the set of Bobby’s shoulders. Old man was stubborn as a mule. "Y'know," Dean said, jerking a head toward the couch. "There's a sofa. Prob'ly a lot more comfortable than the coffee table." As Bobby sheepishly began to stand, Dean sniffed the air. "Fuck! Cas, the sauce, it's burning." His dom pulled away moments before the fire alarm in the kitchen started to screech.

"I will handle it, Dean," Cas said, squeezing Dean's shoulder as he turned toward the kitchen. "You enjoy your visit and I will return in a moment." He gave Bobby one more warning look, but the older man’s reaction to John’s deception had given him much greater confidence, and he left Dean with him with minimal hesitation.

"Damn it," Dean muttered. "I’m such a dumbass." He shook his head, frowning at himself as Cas headed out of the room. A moment later there was the sound of the window opening, and a hot hiss as the pan was chilled quickly. The fire alarm stopped screeching just a beat after that.

"Yeah, now, stop that," Bobby said with a frown. "We all burn stuff, boy. That doesn’t make you a dumbass." He could tell from the way Cas had reacted earlier that Cas didn't like Dean’s tendency to be down about himself, and his estimation of the young dom rose accordingly. "Anyhow... There's time to fix a sauce later." He smiled, trying to be encouraging. "So tell me, who's Sam and Jess?"

Successfully distracted, Dean's head shot up. He grinned. "Oh, that's my little brother." He radiated happiness; he could still hardly believe that it was true. "When we split, when I was a little kid... I had a brother. He's like four years younger than me.” He flushed; he still couldn’t believe that he was . “John always said he was dead, and I guess I kinda forgot about him. Cas says it’s self-preservation or some kinda bullshit like that.” Guilt crept into his voice. No matter who said it was understandable, who the hell forgets their kid brother? He tried to put that out of his mind, focusing on the happy instead. “But I ran into him a couple months ago... That's actually how all this fell together." He motioned in general at the house, where Cas' touches were starting to make appearances.

“You ran into your brother?” Bobby chuckled. That was very much his Dean. He did always have a knack for that.

Dean smiled to see the paintbrushes and tubes of acrylic haphazardly scattered around with his own engine parts and books. Cas was the best byproduct of his meeting Sam, even if they did meet alone first. "Yeah. I did some work on his car. Then we found out that we shared a mom, by accident. A picture fell out of his wallet, and it turned out that it was the same one I've got in mine. So we got to talking and it turns out..." His eyes were shining, though he refused to let himself cry. "My mom's alive, Bobby. She's living in Wisconsin." He gave a watery chuckle. "Actually, she's coming over for dinner tonight. She flew in because of my accident."

Bobby felt his own eyes welling up, just a little, and cleared his throat gruffly. That was everything Dean had ever deserved. "That's wonderful, Dean," he said, clapping the younger man on the shoulder. "I'm real proud of you. You're doin' real good for yourself." He nodded to the kitchen. "And what about him... Casteel?"

"Castiel," Dean corrected, still smiling. "Yeah... Cas is... He's awesome. I met him, actually, at my second job. I'm a bartender. We started talking... Flirting... You know how it goes. But we didn't give each other our names."

Bobby frowned. "That seems kinda dangerous, boy. What if somethin' happened, and no one knew who you were spendin' time with?"

"Well, that goes the same for him," Dean pointed out. "But we mostly met at the bar, or, y’ know, diners. That kinda thing. Anyway. Cas and I were spending all kinds of time together, but I was still, well... Sort of saving myself for my dom." He gestured to the wrist with the cuff. "And then he showed up, and we were having such a good time." In retrospect, it felt kind of strange. That he could fall for someone so hard, so fast, that should have been a hint. He grinned. "So we decided that we'd just take it slow. Until one day I was out for lunch with Sammy, and who should show up, but Angel!" 

Castiel reappeared, chuckling. "Ah, Pretty.... Telling the story of how we met?" He bent to kiss Dean's cheek, smiling as his sub flushed under the attention. Or maybe at the nickname, since Bobby was chuckling at that as well.

"Well, yeah," Dean said as Cas dragged a kitchen chair over to sit next to Dean. "Anyway. _Angel_ shows up, and Sam introduces him as Cas, his roommate!" He grinned wildly, shaking his head. "I swear Bobby, my life is some kinda chick flick."

"Sounds like," Bobby agreed, smiling at the two young men sitting across from him. His heart hurt that he'd missed so much of Dean's teenhood. The young man seemed much more... restrained, than he remembered, and he blamed that on an unchecked influence of John Winchester. "So you met your soulmate, just like that?”

Dean nodded. "Yeah. When Cas introduced himself by his full name, it turned out that he was the very same Castiel Novak whose name I had." He shrugged. "We were meant to be!"

"Of course, it was not all sunshine and roses from that point on," Cas interjected, reaching to hold Dean's uninjured hand. "Dean and I have overcome a lot. But he is a very strong man and I have come to admire him very much."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Bobby agreed, smiling. "Well, I'm happy for you two," he said, nodding to them both. "Now I wonder... You wouldn't happen to have any beer, wouldja?"

Dean laughed. "Well now that you mention it," he said. "We haven’t had it recently, since I'm not allowed to drink it. Cas is pretty strict, since I’m on some heavy duty painkillers for this leg." He frowned comically wide to show what he thought of that. "But, with mom in town, we're having some folks over for dinner, so we did buy some. You can have a couple if you want."

"Oh? Am I intrudin'?" Bobby stood up. "I'm... I actually took a hotel room in town, so if you need me to leave, just say. I can always come by later."

"No!" Dean surprised himself with his outburst, but he didn't back down from it. "Uh, no. No. Stay, Bobby. It's not many people. Sam, Jess, mom... And Mal, my boss from work, and his wife." He smiled. "I think you'll like him. He reminds me a lot of you, actually." In Dean's eyes, that was high praise. There weren't many people from his old life that he loved, but those he did, Bobby Singer was at the top of the list.

Just then, the doorbell rang again, and Dean laughed shakily. "Speak of the devil... that's probably Mal. I told him that he could get here a little early if he wanted. He and his wife are fantastic people." He smiled. "She's about ten months pregnant, I swear. Every time I see her I think she must be ready to pop."

Cas smacked Dean teasingly on the shoulder. "From what you have told me, she is only about four months along," he said as he headed to the door to answer. "So you should probably keep such observations to yourself." Opening the door, he gestured a welcome. "Come in, come in... Good evening Mal. And this must be the lovely Sue."

Dean perked up as his boss' boisterous laugh sounded from the entryway. "Dean! Good to see you up and about! Well. Sort of." He crossed the room without preamble, pulling Dean into a hug. "Good to see so. We've been concerned; it's not like you to be so quiet."

"Yeah, I know. But..." Dean shrugged. "Kinda hard to text with one screwed up hand, and things have been kind of busy around here."

Mal frowned. "Screwed up hand?" He took in the bandage around Dean's left palm and frowned more deeply. "Dean, what's that from? Your hand was _fine_ after the accident."

"Ah, yeah... Just a little slip while I was working on dinner the other night," Dean said sheepishly. "Nothing too serious but I've gotta have it bandaged up for a while." He shook his head. "No biggie. But, hey, where are my manners!" He waved his hand at the couch. "Mal, this is my Uncle Bobby... Bobby, this is my boss, Mal." The two men sized each other up obviously, and Dean bit back a chuckle.

"And this is Sue, Mal's wife," Dean continued as the woman, certainly more pregnant than Dean remembered but not, probably, a full month overdue, made her way to the couch. "How are you, Sue?"

"Oh, I'm doing just fine, thank you, Dean." She bent over to give him a quick hug and kiss. "But how are you? We've missed you around. I wanted to invite you and your dom to dinner, but Mal said it would probably be too hard to get you in and out of the house." She smiled brightly. "Thank you so much for having us! We wanted to see you, so this is such a relief."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah... Sorry about that. Mal's probably right, I'm not really in any kind of position to get in and out of the house easily. I've been doing my exercises to keep my arms nice and strong, or I was until I cut my hand." He realized that the men next to him still weren't talking, and he cleared his throat.

"Uh. Right, sorry, I'm being a terrible host here! Would anyone like a drink? We've got beer, soft drinks, coffee..." He trailed off, looking everyone over, and Bobby finally smiled, breaking the tense silence between himself and Mal.

"I'd love a beer, Dean," he said. He didn't take his eyes off of Mal, who was glaring at him fiercely. "Nothing too fancy for me, thanks."

Mal nodded. "That sounds good." He kept his glare on Bobby, heedless of Sue behind him, rolling her eyes. Finally she lifted a hand and smacked him upside the back of the head sharply. "Ow!" He frowned, rubbing his head, before turning to look at her.

"Mal, you're being rude," she said firmly, shaking her head. He looked aside sheepishly. "A soda sounds lovely to me, thank you, Cas."

"Sorry, Sue," he said contritely, though not _too_ contritely. "You'd be glaring too, if you knew what this guy'd said to Dean!"

"Woah, woah..." Dean felt his stomach roil at the aggression rising in the air. "Hey, it's nothing so bad as all that," he promised. "Bobby never said that stuff to me! John did. I know, I made it sound really bad, but we had a talk when he got here. We realized that my dad probably had a little more to do with things than I ever thought.” He couldn’t stand the thought of Bobby and Mal not getting along. “Bobby is a good guy, and certainly wasn't anywhere near as bad as John made him out to be." 

Bobby chuckled softly. "No harm done, Dean," he said earnestly, nodding to Sue. Cas reappeared with their drinks, carrying them together all in one hand. "If the worst that happens to me today is that someone glares at me because they care a little bit too much about you, well, I count that as a win in my book."

Cas passed the drinks around, as Mal and Sue settled on the couch. "I confess that I was dubious as well, as to his intentions," Cas said calmly. "But he seems to truly care about Dean, and Dean about him." He smiled warmly at his boyfriend, bringing a blush to Dean's cheeks. "I look forward to getting to know someone who has made such an impression on Dean."

"Thanks, Cas," Dean murmured, leaning back in his seat. He cast about desperately for a change of topic. "So, uh, Mal, how're things at the garage?"

"Oh, they're good Dean. Not nearly as good as they would be if you were around, of course, but they're getting there. Steady business this time of year, because everyone's trying to get things done before they roadtrip for the holidays, you know?" He took a swig of his beer. "It'll go better once you're back on your feet, but we've got a temporary guy in that seems to be mostly holding his own. His name's Kevin, not a bad kid."

Dean flushed. He hated the idea of being replaced, but he knew that it was necessary. It wasn't fair to ask Mal to run a man down for three months just because he'd gone and done something as stupid as breaking both his legs. He was just hopeful that by the time he got back that Mal would still need him. "Well, good," he managed, taking a swig of his soda. "I'm glad to hear that."

Cas tapped his shoulder and passed him a little white pill when he looked up. "Oh. Yeah. Medicine time... sorry in advance if I get a little loopy, guys... but trust me, it's better than the total ass..ah...” He flashed a look at Sue; she hated cursing, and he hated to disappoint her. “Cranky-pants I turn into when my meds wear off." He flushed a little. Cranky-pants? But Sue nodded approvingly, so he just took another swig of his drink.

"Oh, don't worry at all, Dean," Sue said warmly as she took a sip of her own soda. "We're just glad that you're getting back to normal." She shook her head and settled back in the couch, stretching out. "Ooh... That feels good. After being on my feet all day, you have no idea." She sighed happily. "So I hear your mother and brother are coming over this evening as well?"

"Uh, yeah. Sammy's gonna man the grill. He'll be here any minute.... Aww sh...Crap." He caught himself just in time. "Cas, can you text Sammy? Since I burned the barbeque sauce, he's gonna need to pick up a bottle on his way over."

"I did earlier," Cas replied, still smiling. "I did not want you needing to worry about cooking once your guests arrived, so when I went to wash out the pot, I texted Sam about our situation. He assured me that they will take care of it before they arrive."

"Oh, awesome," Dean said, grinning a little. "You're too good to me, man." 

Cas shook his head, reaching to take Dean's hand briefly. Again he wished that Dean's hand were better; it was very difficult to hold hands when Dean only had one, because he didn’t like to leave Dean helpless. "I am just as good to you as you deserve," he countered, just to see Dean's blush deepen. Sue gave a mock 'awww' from across the couch, and Dean ducked his head a little.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, shoving Cas gently. "Ease up on the mushy stuff, Romeo... We've got company."

"I had not missed that fact, Dean," Cas said, leaning in for a quick peck to the cheek. When Dean didn't pull away, he smiled and scooted his chair a little bit closer. He looked over at Mal and Bobby, sitting near one another. "So, Mr. Singer..."

Bobby and Dean snorted at the same time, and Bobby shook his head. "Now now, none o' that,' he responded, shaking his head. "My name is Bobby, boy, and that's what you're gonna call me."

"Oh, yes. I apologize." Castiel smiled faintly. "Bobby. What is it that you do? And where do you live?"

"I run a salvage yard," he said, shrugging and taking a swig of his beer. "In South Dakota. Dean and his daddy used to come and see me when they were runnin' low on gas, or needed a part, or just a hot meal."

Dean flushed at that; Mal knew they'd travelled around, of course, but he didn't know a whole lot more than that. "Yeah, John used to make sure we stopped by Bobby's at least once or twice a year. He was always John's best friend... Though I guess that doesn't say much."

"No, it really doesn't," Bobby said mildly. "Your daddy doesn't have many friends, and I can't really say as I blame most other folks. I’d say I was a best friend by default; he didn’t have anyone else." He grinned a sharp grin. "He does have quite a way with words. Usually by way of putting his foot in his mouth pretty solid. Really, Dean, I mostly put up with him because of you." 

Dean didn’t have a good answer for that. Of course Bobby would say things like that when Cas was right there and he couldn’t refute it.

"You run a salvage yard?" Mal sounded intrigued. "Dean mentioned that his father and his uncle had taught him how to work cars... I take it that's you?" 

"Yep, that's me." Bobby took another swig of his beer. "If it weren't for Dean, I probably would have holed up in South Dakota and never moved again. But I've always had a soft spot for the kid." He patted Dean's shoulder warmly. "Dean's a great worker. Kinda lost track with John, though, and I figured that Dean would be tired of visiting with an old man like me.” He looked at his friend, a wistful look crossing his face as he gazed at Dean. “Got wind that he was settled up here, and I thought it might be time for a road trip, stop by and say hi.” He crossed his feet the other way, looking at Dean seriously. "I thought I might stick around a week or two and visit for a bit longer, if that's alright with you?" 

"Oh, ah, of course. I mean, you're welcome however long you want to stay." Dean wasn't sure about how long he wanted visitors for, but he knew that Bobby was going to be a welcome help getting his library set up. He'd dreamed for a long time about having his honorary uncle around, so if Bobby was going to volunteer, Dean wasn't going to say no. 

"That's what I like ta hear, boy," Bobby said with a laugh. He patted Dean's hand and then took another swallow of his beer. "So, where's the bathroom?" He nodded down the hall as he set his beer down on the coffee table. "I've gotta lose some beer."

"Oh, yeah, second door on your left," Dean said, shifting in his chair. His legs were becoming uncomfortable; the plan had been that he was going to get comfortable on the couch before everyone else showed up, so that he could elevate his legs for a little while before they had company, but he knew that Sue needed the spot. He wasn't going to ask a pregnant woman to sit on a hard kitchen chair when there was a soft couch available.

Bobby levered himself up and headed down the hallway. As soon as he was out of earshot, Mal's gaze narrowed again. "Do you need me to get him out of here for you, Dean?" He knew that Dean often let those who hurt him back into his life. The young man didn't have a lot of self preservation skills, and it hurt Mal to know that the little boy inside Dean was willing to let himself be hurt over and over rather than stand up for himself. He allowed the fiercely protective part of himself come out for Dean. He might have never had a kid brother, but Dean was pretty damn close.

"No, Mal, no..." Dean shook his head. "It's nothing like that. Bobby's a great guy. Like he said, he lost touch with my dad, and... It was a misunderstanding. He's really a good guy. He drove all the way from South Dakota as soon as he found out where I was." He grinned, though a part of him did wonder where Bobby had found out about him. He'd tried mostly to stay off the hunter radar, so he had no idea why Bobby found out about him _now_.

They settled into a slightly uneasy silence as the flush and running water came from the hallway and then Bobby reappeared. "So I was thinkin'," he said, as he stepped back into the living room. "Your momma's gonna be here any time now, right Dean?" He waited for the young man to nod. "Well, she might want a little time to chat with you without an old geezer like me around, so if you'f like, I could bugger off, maybe come back later?"

"What? Bobby, no." Dean shot a hard look around the room at Mal and Sue, shaking his head. "You're my family too, Bobby, and I haven't seen you in _forever_. You should be able to stick around if you want to.” He didn’t hesitate, though part of him wanted to, with everyone watching. But he spoke anyway. “ _I_ want you to stick around. So don't worry about what anyone else says. Just sit down. Drink your beer."

"Yessir," Bobby said with a small, doubtful chuckle. He got the impression that Dean didn’t ask for what he wanted very often, so he didn’t hesitate to sit back down. The sound of another car rolling up the gravel drive drew everyone's attention. 

“That'll be Sam, Jess, and mom," Dean said. Suddenly, he was eager. He'd missed his mother, despite the fact that they texted regularly and had spoken on the phone a few times. It was like... He'd always missed his mother, but it was an absent sort of ache. He hadn't known what hurt or why. But now he'd met her, and he knew her and everything she represented. It was weird not having her around, even though he'd only known her for a few days, really.

"She's gonna like you," he said, though to whom he was speaking wasn't entirely clear. There were some slamming car doors, and Cas stood up to go and help bring all the food in. No sooner had he opened the front door than there were footsteps on the stairs.

"Dean!" Mary's voice carried through the screen, and Dean's lips quirked into a smile despite himself. He rolled toward the door slowly, one handed, and smiled as his mother came into view. "Hey, mom... How was your flight?"

Mary stepped through the door, loaded down with shopping bags, and several containers of cookies. Dean's eyes widened happily at the sight of the sweets. "It was great, as smooth as I can expect, this time of year." She bent down to kiss Dean's cheek, tutting softly. "Oh, Dean, your poor legs... And your hand!" She shook her head, clearly unhappy with the sight of Dean's bandages. "You're going to give me a complex," she said teasingly, shaking her head again. Looking up, she took in the room.

"Oh, and our party has grown! Do you want to introduce me, Dean?" Her eyes lingered on Bobby, assessing but not overly judgmental, and Dean breathed a small sigh of relief.

"Sure," he said agreeably. "Mom, this is Mal and Sue; Mal's my boss at the shop, and Sue is his wife. They're pretty good people." He smiled warmly. What would he do without Mal? He was pretty sure that he didn't want to find out. "And this is my Uncle Bobby. He's, ah... A friend of John's."

"Bobby Singer, as I live and breath." Mary shook her head. "I thought that was you, you old bastard." She stepped forward, and wrapped him in a one armed hug. Bobby hugged her back. "I thought you were dead!"

"Oh, no..." Bobby grinned back. "Mary Campbell. I never woulda thought to see the day." He chuckled and slapped her back. "You haven't been around much, girl. Not my fault that you don't know how to pick up a phone."

Mary shook her head. "Well, after the fire, mom and dad thought we should take a break from travelling a bit, you know, let things settle down. And then raising Sam, I guess I just never got back in it the same way, you know?" She glanced at Mal, and figured that the man definitely wasn't in the know. "I'd better put these in the kitchen, and go help Sam and Jess with the rest. But we'll talk more tonight. I've got a lot to catch up on with you!"

"You sure do," Bobby agreed. The screen door slammed again, and Cas, Sam and Jess tromped through, loaded down with grocery bags and boxes of food. Dean gaped.

"Guys, what the he... Heck! Did you buy out the whole flippin' store or something?" 

Jess had the grace to flush, just a little bit, but held her head up high. "Mama Mary asked what you guys have been doing for food; I told her I thought a lot of takeout, and hamburger helper. So she figured, she'll be in town for a few days, so she could make you guys up some frozen meals and you can just heat them up in the oven or something."

Dean blinked. "Mom! I can cook my own food! Or... Cas can, anyway. And I've got plenty in the cupboards."

Mary made a tutting noise. "Dean, you won't let me come and take care of you, I understand that. I respect that, even. But you cannot tell your mother that you would prefer to eat some of that... preserved nonsense over a good, homemade meal that you didn't have to cook for yourself!" She shook her head. "So we'll cook together, and you can tell me all about what's been going on since I left, and when I leave, you'll have food for the rest of your time to recuperate. Or at least, a couple week’s worth."

Dean sighed, but he could already tell there was no point in arguing with Mary Campbell when she was on a roll, so he shrugged. "If that's what you want, I guess."

Sue grinned as she levered herself up from the couch. "Oh, I like you..." She said, nodding to the kitchen. "I'll help you put the groceries away while the boys visit." She groaned again, but didn't slow down as she headed with her waddling gait into the kitchen door. Mary and Jess followed her in.

"I'll be right back," Cas promised, taking the bags he'd been laden with through the door. 

Dean was blushing. "I can't believe that she did that," he said, shaking his head again. "I mean... I _can_ cook for myself, you know." 

Bobby laughed. "Trust me, boy, your momma's been a fireball her whole life, and she sure as hell ain’t stoppin' now just because you're a little older and not livin' in her house."

"I didn't know you knew my mom, Bobby." Dean was a little hurt. How had the older man known her and _not_ told him? "I mean... We used to come to your house all the time!"


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I want to apologize for how long it's been since I updated. I've been caught up in other projects, and haven't had the time to dedicate to this fic that it deserves. 
> 
> Rest assured, I have not forgotten about it, and do not intend to abandon it, ever!
> 
> Second, I'd like to thank everyone for reading and commenting. It really does mean a lot to know that you are all out there, enjoying this fic.
> 
> Third, thanks so much, as ever, to Lisa for the beta and the kick in the butt. Without further ado: the next chapter!

Bobby dropped his shoulders, shaking his head. "I never realized that was your mama," he said with small, sorrowful shrug. "If I'da known, I sure would have told you, Dean." He frowned a little bit. "She was a bit hot tempered, you know, and when she ran off with your daddy, your grandpa didn't even tell me what his name was. And then she wasn't around, and they weren't talkin', so it didn't really seem to matter. And by the time I got to know your daddy, I hadn't really talked to the Campbells in a long time."

"I don't think I knew she went back to her maiden name," Dean said sadly. "Not that it really mattered, since John told me she didn't want anything to do with me, but it's the principle of the thing, you know?"

"Yeah, I do." Bobby sipped his beer again, and Mal leaned forward on the couch.

"How _do_ you all know one another?" It was clear that there was something deeper than a love of cars at work here, but Mal really couldn't figure out what it was. 

"Oh, Mary's daddy used to hunt with me. Big game." Bobby grinned. "He was a heck of a sportsman, back in the day. But then there was the fire and he pretty much... Quit."

"That makes sense," Mal said, nodding a little bit. He'd heard about the fire from Dean, and how that changed his family so drastically. "I'm sorry to hear that. Seems like they were good friends."

"They were," Bobby agreed. "And might be again, one day. We'll see."

"Alright, boys" Mary said from the kitchen. "We're going to fire up the grill. Who's hungry?"

"I am!" Mal said without hesitation, arching up and turning to look over his shoulder at the kitchen. "Is there anything I can do to help you out?"

"No, we've got it... You boys talk. We'll let you know if you need to do anything for us." The women began to move around the kitchen clattering none too quietly as they did. Dean squirmed a little bit uncomfortably. He didn't like knowing other people were working in his kitchen without him, especially Mary and Sue, both guests _and_ doms, but there wasn't much that he could do to help. Certainly not now that he'd managed to burn the barbeque sauce.

"So, ah... I think there's a football game on?" He offered, not really sure if he was telling the truth. But Cas took the hint and turned to the television.

"Let me see what I can find," he agreed. He flipped the television on and began to work through the channels. Eventually they settled on a football game, though Dean couldn't tell you who any of the players were. The teams were a blur of colors, as his pain pills began to kick in.

"So, Cas... What are your intentions with Dean?" Bobby's voice was deceptively mild, though he kept his eyes on the young dom next to Dean. The terror that comment inspired was dulled by the medication, but Dean still turned his head toward Bobby. This could end badly.

"Not that it is any of your business," Cas said primly, narrowing his eyes and frowning slightly. "But Dean and I have decided to wait, for the moment, rather than signing any significant long term contracts." He reached for Dean's good hand, holding it firmly. "Though I am certain _Dean_ could tell you anything you were wanting to know about our relationship."

Dean blinked slightly, startled to be brought into the conversation. Kale had always said, dom talk is dom talk. His pills were kicking in and he knew his filter was down, but he shrugged and answered anyway. "Uh, yeah. We're waiting a little bit. I mean, not too long. But I’m not really a good enough sub to sign any kind of contract yet. And Cas still has to finish school... He shouldn't have to be saddled with me while he's doing that." Cas' eyes were widening progressively the longer that Dean talked, and when his sub finished speaking, he frowned.

"Dean,” Cas admonished gently. “I believe that answer was somewhat beyond the scope of Bobby’s question.” His voice held promise that everyone in the room picked up on, and Dean flushed slightly. Damn. Every time he took the fuckin' pain pills, they made it obvious what he was thinking about, and Cas never took that lightly.

"Oh," he said softly, the flush deepening. That tone meant they would be having Words, later, though he was grateful that Cas didn’t spell it out in front of company. A part of him, though, trilled with pleasure. It was still good to know that his dom didn't let him make mistakes without consequences, and he was slowly starting to realize that Cas would never do anything to him that he wouldn't appreciate later. Somehow. 

"Dean is right about one thing," Cas said to Bobby after another moment scrutinizing his sub. "We both have very full plates at the moment and we have not yet decided what our timeline is to a more permanent setup. That being said." He squeezed Dean's hand again. "I know that Dean is it for me. Even if it were not his name on my wrist, I know that I would like to have him for my own for the rest of my life, and to belong to him in return."

"Well, now." Bobby smiled as Dean looked up at Cas. "That sure does give my old heart a rest." After all, Dean was practically his son, once. He knew his own stupidity had let a lot of his own right to an opinion pass away, but it was good to see his boy being taken care.

"You're not that old, Bobby," Dean protested, shaking his head, glad the focus was off of himself for a moment.

"Naw, not that old," the older man agreed with a laugh. "But not that young, either. So Cas, I hear you’re an artist?”

“Yes, I am studying art education. Since Dean has been injured, he has been most gracious to let me do much of my homework here.” He grinned. “That is why you see so much paint around.” 

“Well, I did wonder. Dean was always much more interested in building things than art, when I had him at my house.” He shook his head as the conversation petered out a little, and they leaned back to watch the game for a while.

"Boys! Dinner!" Mary's voice broke through some time later, and Dean blinked. He hadn't realized he'd dozed off, his head on Cas' shoulder. He yawned again, and his dom leaned down to kiss his forehead.

"Do you feel better, Dean?"

"Mm... Yeah..." Dean stretched, shaking his head. "I didn't know I was so tired... Damn painkillers." 

"Well, yes, but you would certainly regret not having them, if you had elected to forego them this evening." 

Dean elbowed him gently. "Cas, you sound like a walking dictionary sometimes." He didn’t refute the claim, though, and his tone was fond. The spicy sweet smell of barbeque pork floated on the air along with fresh biscuits and some kind of green, vegetative smell. "Wow... Something smells fantastic."

"It certainly does," Mal agreed, letting Dean and Cas lead the way into the kitchen. Jess was setting out the last of the plates, and gave a little wave when she saw them all roll in.

"Wash up your hands, boys, it's dinner time." She said, and obediently the men trooped over to the sink so they could scrub their hands. It took a little more doing for Dean to wash just one hand in the sink, given that the damn gauze on the other one had to stay dry, but Cas helped him out by soaping up his own left hand and letting Dean rub their hands together under the spray.

They all settled around the table, grinning broadly as Jess set fresh beers, or colas, in front of everyone, and Mary began to dish up the hot chops, grilled asparagus, and the piping biscuits. Dean slathered his biscuit liberally with butter and honey, and Cas cut his pork chop for him. He did so as secretly as he could, starting as though to eat it himself and then sneaking the pieces onto Dean's plate one by one. Dean blinked when he looked down and saw the perfect squares of pork in the middle of his plate. If anyone else had noticed Cas doing that, they certainly kept it to themselves.

"Thank you very much for cooking, mama Mary," Cas said, raising his beer to her. "And to the rest of you lovely ladies as well. Everything looks amazing, and I am certain that it will taste the same."

"Here here!" Dean said, raising his glass of coke up to meet Cas'. The others raised their glasses as well, and then everyone dug in.

"Mm.. Mom, this is so good." Sam grinned across at her through a mouthful of pork. "You know that you've ruined pork chops for me forever. I mean, everyone talks about how food isn't as good as when mom makes it, but you really take the cake. You do."

"Well, thank you, Sam." Mary nodded at her younger son and then looked around the table. "So... Mal. I take it you and Dean have been friends for a long time?" She'd had some interesting and enlightening conversations with Sue while they were cooking, but there was something about hearing it right from the horse's mouth that made her feel more confident in the answers.

"Oh, yeah... Since he got here, really. I know a fair few college kids, end up here and move out at the end of the year, that sort of thing. But Dean never did that. Steady worker, punctual." He nudged Dean's shoulder. "He's a good kid. I'm lucky to have him."

"Shut up," Dean mumbled around his asparagus. And wasn't that a kicker? Asparagus! But the damn stuff tasted damn good, so he chewed the stringy vegetable and swallowed. "Mal just wants to justify the fact that he gave a skinny, no good teenager a job, despite the fact that I had no prior work history to speak of, no qualifications, just my word that I knew my way around an engine."

"Dean." Cas’ voice was firm, but Dean didn't back down. He just glanced at his dom, acknowledging the warning, before shrugging.

"What can I say. He's never been the brightest boss." He grinned at Mal to show he was teasing. "But he does a decent job running the garage."

"Well gee, thanks, Dean." Mal's voice was dry, teasing right back. "And anyway, you have certifications now. What you had then was something other people only dream of: dedication. If you hadn't been prompt and dedicated, it wouldn't have mattered _what_ certificates you had. Only the fact that I could see that you were going to be a good worker made it worthwhile for me to give you a shot. So I'd say I had pretty good luck."

The dinner fell into a somewhat uncomfortable silence after that, and Dean nodded. "If you say so,” he said, looking down at his plate. 

Mary let the silence reign for a few moments more before she turned to Bobby. "So what've you been up to, you old bastard?” She ignored the small sound of displeasure from Sue off to her left. “Since I haven't heard from you in, oh gosh, gotta be a good twenty three years or so."

"Yeah, it sure has been about that long. Same old same old, for the most part." Bobby shrugged. "Answering phones, fixing cars. Runnin' a tow, now and then." 

“Oh?” Mary looked somewhat disappointed, even knowing that there were probably many things they couldn’t discuss with civilians in the room. “Well… What about romantically?” There was a twinkle in her eye that only brightened when Bobby flushed along the top of his beard.

Dean’s eyes widened; he couldn’t imagine anything making Bobby blush. “Bobby?” A grin split his lips. “Who is it? Do I know ‘em?”

“I don’t know, t’ be honest.” Bobby cleared his throat, chuckling faintly. “Her name’s Ellen, she runs the Roadhouse.”

“The bar that John used to stop at, sometimes? Yeah.” Dean nodded eagerly. “I remember. She makes a dam… darn good burger.” He laughed, but his laugh tapered off just a little as something occurred to him. “Isn’t she… A dom?” He hesitated to bring it up, but Bobby just nodded.

“Yeah, she is. And a real good one.” He took a swig of his beer, and met Dean’s gaze evenly. It hurt his heart to see his boy so hesitant to even consider Bobby in that kind of a relationship. “Her girl, Jo, she must be about Sam’s age. She’s a good kid.” His face softened. He hadn’t gotten to have the life he’d dreamed about with Karen, but with Jo, and now Dean back in his life, well. He couldn’t say he had any regrets.

"Actually, she's the one that told me I oughta get my head outta my ass and get up here." He ignored the small cough of amusement Mal let out when Sue frowned. "I wasn't sure you'd wanna see me, but she told me that if you were the man I thought you were, you'd forgive an old man his mistakes." Despite the crowd, he was being unusually candid. He could see that Dean was having a hard time believing him, and he didn't want to leave even a shred of doubt in the young man's mind how much Dean was wanted. 

"I..." Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah. I mean, I didn't _expect_ to see you at my door, but I _am_ glad to see you." He forked up a bite of pork so he didn't have to talk anymore.

Sue saw the look of discomfort on Dean’s face, and took pity on him. “So, Jess, you were saying that you’re in pre-med at Stanford? That is quite an accomplishment.” She lifted her glass and tipped it in a small toast. “Your parents must be very proud.”

Jess smiled broadly, sharing a quick look with Cas, both grateful for the chance to give Dean a moment to regain his composure. She was fiercely protective of Dean, and she appreciated that it seemed everyone else in the room was, as well. “They are. They’re both doctors. Actually… My mother was the first sub Head of Surgery at LA General. They’ve both had quite an impact on my life.”

“I’m sure.” Sue nodded, and then looked to Sam. “And you’re pre-law? You’ve both chosen very challenging careers.” 

“I know,” Sam agreed, taking a sip of his beer. “But I look forward to being able to practice. I intend to start a practice that handles mostly divorces, to be honest, but we will also represent subs in abusive relationships. I hope, one day, pro bono. That’s the dream, anyway.”

“Wow.” Sue turned to Mary, a smile on her face. “You must be very proud.”

“I am,” Mary agreed, sipping her own beer with a grin. “My boys grew up real good, and they both picked partners with solid heads on their shoulders.”

Dean flushed and ducked his head. He wasn’t used to being included in blanket praise like that. “Cas found me, really,” he said, shrugging faintly. “Just lucky he stuck around for that drink.”

Castiel nodded. “I certainly am,” he agreed, twining his fingers with Dean’s, careful of the bandages. He turned to Sue. “So I am afraid I have not yet come to fully understand what it is that you do?” Their meetings thus far hadn’t lent to conversations, being mostly around Dean’s hospital bed. 

“I’m an editor,” she said, recognizing that Dean wanted to be out of the spotlight. “I work for a magazine; when the baby is born, I’ll be taking a leave of absence, and then I’ll work from home for a while. It should be the most convenient arrangement for everyone.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Cas agreed. “I’ve often thought that I would like to stay home, if I am ever blessed with children.” He said it so casually, Dean actually thought he’d misheard. Not that he had given too much thought to it, but he’d always assumed that would be his job. He had been resigned to leaving his position, if they ever ended up deciding they wanted to start a family. 

Cas continued blithely, oblivious to Dean’s shocked silence beside him. “I would offer private lessons, so that I could work from home.” A small dreamy smile touched his lips. “Our children could grow up surrounded by art.” He looked over at Dean, and his smile broadened. “And they would learn from you how to be proud of a good day’s work, and how to think on their feet.” He nodded firmly, but then seemed to realize Dean was looking at him strangely.

“I suppose we can talk about this later,” he said sheepishly, smiling a little at his sub. Sometimes his romantic heart got away from him, but he couldn’t regret showing Dean how loved he was. “So. Mama Mary… How are classes going?”

“Oh, they’re going quite well,” she said. “Of course everyone is looking forward to Thanksgiving break, but so far my classes have settled into a nice routine.” She passed Dean another roll, eyeing him when he looked ready to protest. Clearly she thought he needed to eat more. He sighed, but fought back a small smile anyway. It was… nice, really, to know she cared so much.

“Well, that’s no surprise.” Sam grinned teasingly. “Everyone knows not to mess with you, mom. I mean, you’re the scariest teacher at U of W.”

Mary just pointed her fork at him. “None of that,” she said, smiling fondly. “Don’t need to frighten these good folks with stories about me, Sammy.”

Sam laughed, utterly unchastened. “Well, it’s true.” He looked at Mal, eyes sparkling. “She’s got three black belts, and teaches the weapons class at her karate school. Everyone knows not to mess with her.”

Mary shook her head. “You are incorrigible, Samuel.” She forked up the last of her pork, chewing thoroughly as she looked at the smiling faces around her. “Alright, who wants coffee?”

“There is decaf in the cupboard,” Cas said, straightening as he started to gather up the dishes of those who were finished eating. He didn’t say that Dean was supposed to limit his caffeine with the pills he was taking; one quick glance at his sub seemed to get the point across.

Sue piped up, though, nodding appreciatively. “That sounds great; I’ve been trying to cut down, with the baby and all, but I’m a true coffee addict!” She helped Cas gather the dishes, but let herself be urged back to sitting when he waved her away. 

“I can start the coffee, mama Mary. You cooked. Sam and I can handle the dishes... Why don’t you go ahead and relax in the living room? We’ll bring the coffee out when it’s done.”

“I can help,” Dean said, frowning at the thought of the two doms doing all the cleanup, but Cas shook his head. 

“No, Dean, you should visit with your guests. They are here to see you, not me and Sam.” He pressed a kiss to Dean’s temple. “It truly won’t take us long, you should enjoy your visit.”

Dean glanced hesitantly at the door again before nodding. “If you say so,” he agreed. “You can leave some for me, I’ll take care of it after.”

“Pretty.” Cas dropped his voice, being careful that no one other than Dean could hear him. “We’re fine. Go _be with your guests._ ”

He nodded again, but this time there was a small smile on his face. “Alright, alright… I’m going. Just don’t take all night. I might need you out there.” The small teasing lilt in Dean’s voice belied the nerves he was feeling at the idea of going out on his own. Facing all that _concern_ without Cas’ buffering presence was daunting to say the least.

He carefully wheeled his way out using his good arm. It took a lot longer with only one limb, and he got a lot more tired doing it, but it felt good not to need to rely on anyone else to get him where he was going. When he crossed the threshold, Mary, Jess and Sue had claimed the couch, and Bobby and Mal had dragged kitchen chairs back out into the living room with them.

Mary smiled broadly as he parked next to the couch. “There you are, Dean. I thought perhaps Cas and Sam had suckered you into helping clean up.”

“No, Cas kicked me out,” Dean said with a laugh. “But enough about me… How was your flight?” It was still surreal to know that this morning Mary had been in Wisconsin, and now here she was in his living room, having cooked him dinner. He couldn’t imagine anyone else who would have done that for him.

“It was as good as a flight ever is.” Mary wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I really don’t like flying, but, well, sometimes the ends justify the means.” She picked up the tin of cookies from the middle of the table and offered it to Dean. “Snickerdoodle?”

He took one absentmindedly, his eyes widening a little. “You don’t like to fly either?” Not that he’d had much opportunity, but really, Dean knew that he had _zero_ interest in getting in a plane. Men belong on the ground. It was strange to know he and Mary had that in common, given that he hadn't ever met her before he formed that opinion.

Mary gave an exaggerated shudder, drawing a chuckle from Sue. “Never have,” she said, patting Dean’s hand. “But sometimes it’s the only way to get where you’re going. And seeing you is definitely worth it.”

Dean felt himself flushing again, but there wasn’t much for it, so he bit into the cookie and shook his head. He almost moaned; that was a damn good cookie. “Oh, God... You have to teach me to make these before you go," he said, eyes still closed. He opened them sheepishly when Mal chucked. "Hey, did you try these? You wouldn't be laughing if you did."

Mal just grinned. "I did. Your mama's a darn good baker. I look forward to you bringing them in." Just then Sam and Cas walked in each with several cups of coffee. They passed them around, then settled on the floor, Cas sat at Dean's feet, and Sam at Jess'. 

"Oh, fresh coffee." Sue sounded practically orgasmic as she took her first sip. "Thank you." 

"So, Dean," Sam looked up hopefully. "I know leaving the house is hard, but mom rented an SUV, and we thought it might be nice to go to lunch tomorrow?"

"I... I'm not sure." Dean shook his head. "All depends how sore I am." And he wasn't sure how Bobby was going to fit into all of this. Bumping in and out a few times for doctor’s appointments was one thing, but Dean hadn’t gone out for fun since the accident.

"Well, think about it." Sam was hopeful, and Dean nodded. It was all Dean could promise. He sipped his coffee, and Cas leaned against the wheel of his chair. Dean could feel the warmth of his head through his jeans; it felt _real_. Cas tapped Dean’s knee, and when Dean looked down, he passed a pair of pills to him. 

“Just tylenol,” he murmured, sotto voce, and Dean gratefully took the breakthrough pain medication before settling back into the conversation. It felt good to be able to laugh and tease. Even Bobby, who he hadn’t seen in so long, fit right in with everyone else. Eventually, though, the coffee was all drunk, and the plate of cookies reduced to crumbs. 

Sue was the first to stand, groaning as she stretched. "Well. I have an early appointment tomorrow, so we ought to be going." She crossed to give him a hug and kiss his cheek. "Don't be a stranger, now, Dean. As soon as you're out and about again, you and Cas must come to dinner."

"Sounds great," Dean said earnestly, warmth blooming in his chest as he realized how she and Mal had accepted Cas. "We'll be in touch."

Mal shook his hand firmly, then pulled him in for a hug anyway. "You get better soon," he said gruffly. "It's not the same without you at work."

Dean flushed and nodded. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised. Cas leveraged himself off the floor and led the way to the door. 

"It was lovely to see you both," he said as he opened the door for them to pass. Sue gave him a hug, Mal a handshake, and then they disappeared into the night.

Mary watched Dean intently for a moment; she could see how he shifted, and a quick glance at the clock showed it had been almost four hours since his medications; Dean must have been starting to hurt, but hiding it well.

"I think it's time for me to be going as well," she said, stretching exaggeratedly as she stood. "It's been a long day." She bent to kiss Dean's cheek and then gave Cas a hug. "I'll be back in the morning for breakfast, don't you dare cook, do you hear?" 

"Yes ma'am," Dean agreed, blushing slightly at the demand. It was strange to know she cared, but Dean wasn't going to complain. He knew she meant well. “We’ll see you in the morning. You guys coming back, too?”

Sam shook his head. “No, Jess and I have a rally in the morning. We’ll be back by lunch time, though.” He clapped Dean on the shoulder, then nodded to Bobby. “Good to meet you, Bobby. Hopefully we’ll see you again?”

“I hope so,” Bobby agreed. “If Dean wants, I was hoping to come back tomorrow.” His voice was somewhat tentative, but Dean nodded immediately.

“Oh, yeah, for sure.” He didn’t know how long Bobby was going to be able to be in town, but he really didn’t want to miss a minute. “You’re welcome to come over for breakfast. I’m not allowed to cook anyway.”

Bobby chuckled, levering himself up from the couch. He gave Dean a firm hug, squeezing his shoulder as he stood up. “I’ll be here with bells on,” he said, smiling broadly. “You get some sleep, y’hear?”

“Yessir,” Dean answered with a matching smile, letting Bobby go with a sigh. It was strange, but this all just felt… Right. Bobby and Mary puttered around, Bobby leaving first, then the rest of them. Finally, though, he and Cas were along and the house was quiet. 

Dean dropped his head onto the door as he closed it behind his mother. "Well. That was something." He chuckled softly, leaning back. It was nearly eleven at night, much later than he'd been going to bed lately. His pain pill was wearing off, and the dull ache in his leg was rising to an all encompassing throb. He blew out a slow breath and turned to Cas. “Well… We survived.” He stretched slowly, yawning. “God… I thought they’d never leave.”

Cas chuckled, shaking his head. “You know we could have asked them to go any time. None of them would have been offended.” He gently rubbed Dean’s shoulders, then kissed his temple. “Come, let’s get ready for bed.” He stepped away and then turned Dean’s chair toward the bathroom. “After all, we have something to discuss before we sleep.”

Dean tipped his head thoughtfully, and then frowned. Of course; he’d forgotten. Cas had disagreed with what he’d said to Bobby about their relationship. He knew his dom didn’t appreciate the way that he thought, but they were truthful thoughts. 

“I have to admit that your uncle Bobby wasn't what I would have expected,” Cas said conversationally as he wheeled Dean toward the bathroom. “He was very pleasant.”

"Oh yeah, Bobby's great," Dean agreed. "He's the one who taught me about cars... I think I told you that, though. He is really awesome." He swallowed; it had hurt so much when Bobby wasn't interested in him when he was younger, and now a huge part of himself was reeling. Did Bobby really like him? He could hardly believe it. But it seemed to be true.

"I am glad that he sought you out.” Cas settled one hand warmly on Dean’s shoulder as he reached across for the toothpaste. “Do you still know where he lives?"

"Yeah... It sounds like he really hasn't moved since I was in high school." Dean let Cas hand him the toothbrush and began to brush quickly. Cas, though, didn't load his own toothbrush.

"It was wonderful to have so many people who care about you all in one place." He grinned, his hands settling lightly on Dean's shoulders. "Bobby, and Mal. He's so protective of you. I hadn't really met Sue before, but she seems very nice as well." He waited for Dean to spit and look up at him. He wasn’t in the least surprised that Dean looked ready to protest, but Cas held up a hand to forestall that. "Yes, Dean, I know that you would like to think that your life is inconsequential to those around you." He looked at his sub reprovingly. "I hope that you would let tonight remind you that we do in fact care about you, and there are many people whose lives are much better because you are in them." 

Dean spat his toothpaste again, more to give himself a moment than to truly clear his mouth, "I know that, Cas," he said finally, shaking his head. "I mean, you know I know that. But I'm not really who you think I am. You always talk like I'm something... Special. I'm just a guy."

Cas's eyes narrowed. "And that is exactly what I am trying to combat." He took his own toothbrush and put on the paste a little more aggressively than necessary. "Pretty... If I could go back and kill every man who made you feel as though you are unworthy of affection..." His voice was dark and full of violent promise and he jammed his toothbrush into his mouth as though to stop further speculation.

Dean shivered, but this time it was not entirely unwelcome. Bobby and Mal were protective, sure, but neither of them held that tone of restrained violence against perpetrators who were long gone from Dean's life. He swallowed and shook his head. "I'm not saying that. I'm just saying..."

"Don't finish that thought." Cas spoke around his toothbrush. "Do you think you can make it out into the bedroom?"

Dean nodded, a little surprised. Cas rarely cut him off, so it was somewhat jarring that he had. He awkwardly turned himself out of the small space and rolled where Cas had sent him, frowning. Cas seemed _really_ mad and Dean hated to make him mad. But then, Cas was the kind of guy who got angry at other people, not at Dean. It was still surprising to him that Cas never really got irritated with Dean, at least not as much as Dean would expect.

He pulled out their sleep pants while he waited, listening to Cas rinsing his toothbrush and gargling with the blue mouthwash Dean couldn't stand to let past his lips. When his dom joined him a few minutes later, Angel was back, all mellow and relaxed.

"Pretty. I apologize for snapping at you." He bent and pressed a kiss to Dean's temple. "I found myself frustrated and took that out on you, which was unfair."

"It's okay," Pretty said, shaking his head. "I mean, I deserved it. I wasn't letting you finish, either."

"You most certainly did _not_ deserve it!" Angel frowned. "I can see this is going to be somewhat more in depth than I expected.” Angel blew out a long, slow breath and assessed the situation. 

Pretty waited, eyes down on his lap. He didn’t like it when Angel was upset with him. 

“Alright,” Pretty looked up at Angel’s unexpectedly soft voice, “First, let's get you changed, and then I want you to lie down on the bed, on your side." It wasn't as easy to accomplish his goal that way, but Angel wanted Pretty comfortable, and with the casts back or side was the only option, really. 

They made short work of changing, since they'd gotten it down to a science the last few weeks. Finally, Pretty was in the bed, and Angel slid up behind him. "Tonight you said to Bobby that you were surprised that I want to be with you, that you aren't worth it." His stomach roiled at the very idea that Dean felt that way. "So. Today, for your consequences... I want you to truly understand that you _are_ worth it." He smiled. "So lie back and relax. I am going to give you a massage, and while I do, I want you to tell me all the reasons you very much do deserve to be my good boy. At least three, to start. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Angel," Pretty responded, mind spinning. He hated these kinds of punishments. Angel was so good at them, but to try and praise himself, make himself sound good? It just made him want to squirm. Subs weren’t supposed to talk like that. What right did he have to say why Angel should be with him? 

"If that's what you want." Pretty's voice was soft; it was so strange to think of bragging about himself! 

Angel climbed up on the bed behind him, and warm hands settled on his shoulders. They began at the top of his neck, pressing firmly at the knots on the base of Dean's skull. "You can begin at any time," he murmured, his voice low.

Pretty shivered, closing his eyes as his dom's thumbs pressed against the tension. "Three things?" He knew it was going to be a stretch to come up with even one, but if his dom wanted, well, that was what he would do.

"Yes, Pretty. Three. I am confident in your ability to tell me." Angel pressed a kiss to the nape of Pretty's neck, and then shifted down to massage closer to his shoulders.

Pretty blew out a long, slow breath, letting Angel's touch relax and calm him. He closed his eyes, but popped them open again right away. The pain pills he’d taken after he changed clothes were already kicking in, leaving everything just this side of hazy, and sleep called to him any time his eyes closed. "Alright... Umm... One, I'm good with my hands. That means I can help you set up for your art shows, or box your work up, or even maybe help build sets or displays for you?" He knew it would be a while before he could do that properly. Still, it was a good thing that he could do, could contribute to his dom.

"That's very true, Pretty." Angel wished that his boyfriend would come up with something a little more personal than that, but he was happy to take what he could get for the moment. They might have to start with the superficial and then build from there when Dean allowed himself to see his own worth. He shifted to grab the bottle of oil he'd brought with him from the bathroom, moistening his hands and then starting on Pretty's shoulders properly. "What next?"

Pretty squirmed as Angel's hands shifted, and it seemed for a moment as though he'd lost his train of thought. "Umm. I can speak four languages?" He said it tentatively. He rarely liked to talk about the 'extra' schooling that John had put him through, but he knew that Angel valued intelligence. "So I could... Help broker business deals for you?"

Angel's eyes widened. Four? That seemed low, given what he'd seen his boyfriend do. "Or you could speak to me in another language," he murmured, dropping his head low so he could whisper in Pretty's ear. "Mi amor... I would be most honored to hear you share your heart with me using any words you have." He smiled, "Alright…” he kissed him again, before pulling back. “That's two. One more, Pretty, and then you can just enjoy the massage until you fall asleep.”

It was very, very hard for Pretty to pull himself together and think of one more reason that Angel might want to be with him. He swallowed and shrugged. "Well, I mean... I have a good job?"

"No, Pretty." Angel's voice was firm, though not angry. "While you do have a good job, that is not a reason for you to be 'worthy' of me." He didn't lift his hands from Pretty's back to make the air quotes, but it was a very near thing. "After all, I am currently working mostly at craft fairs and tutoring. If anything, that means I am unworthy to be _your_ dom."

Pretty tried to sit up, suddenly anxious. "No, sir! That's not what I meant at all! It's just..."

"Shh." Angel cut him off, pressing him gently back down to the bed. "I know that you meant, my love, that you and I are more evenly matched when you are working. But I promise you, whether you work for Mal for the rest of your life, or choose to start your own garage, or... Or go back to school to become a professor of mathematics, know that your income, or lack thereof, will never impact how much I care for you."

That was... Impossible. Pretty tried not to care when Angel said shit like that, but it was _impossible_ not to. Even Angel’s attempt at levity didn’t lift the anxiety in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t possibly ever teach at a university! "Sir." The small sound of displeasure his dom gave reminded him of the reflexive title he'd used, and Pretty flushed. "Sorry. Angel. I just... I'm not sure what else to say. I mean… seriously, me, teaching in a university? Going to one,” Pretty snorted, “I don’t see that.” 

He felt Angel’s hands stop for a moment.

God, those drugs really made him lose it.

Angel sighed and kissed his hair, and Pretty tried not to let the disappointment he could almost feel coming off of his dom upset him. "My sweet Pretty. That was certainly _not_ the point I was trying to make with that comment.” He shook his head, resuming his massage after a moment. “You have so many wonderful qualities. Your sense of humor, your intelligence, your deft fingers and nimble feet." He smiled. "You are my match, my equal in every way. I only wish I could make you see that."

"I just don't get what you mean," Pretty said, shaking his head. His hair rustled against the pillow. "I'm just a dumb kid from nowhere special, who got lucky and got a job in a garage."

"No!" Angel pressed slightly more firmly at the knot beneath his fingers. "You are my sweet sub, and fate, or luck, put us both in the places where we are today. To where you found me, and I found you."

Pretty made a small sound as the knot in his back released. It hurt, but it felt good, too. So good to have his dom's hands on him, reassuring him that everything would be okay and that he was cared for. He dropped his head back onto the pillow, thinking about what they'd said. 

"Well... I suppose I'm worthy of you, then," he murmured softly. "Because you chose me." He fought the urge to bury his face in the pillow so he didn't have to continue. It was unbearably sappy. Damn, those pills should come with a warning: _’Your life may turn into a chick-flick while taking this medication. Consume at your own risk._ ’ 

"You met me and you chose me, even though you didn't know what the name on my wrist said, or that my name was on yours." Pretty licked his lips, for the first time believing that maybe, just maybe, he _could_ have this. And that was more than he'd really been prepared for. "I'm worthy of you because you're worthy of me."

Angel's breath caught in his throat and he nodded, a smile breaking out across his face. "Yes, Pretty!" He leaned in and captured his sub''s lips in a kiss, unable to stop himself. "Yes, that is exactly right! You are so good, Pretty... That was exactly what I wanted." He hugged his boyfriend gently, and then rolled back onto his heels to start massaging again. "Please just relax, Pretty. Let me do what I can do." He began again, loving to see how Pretty gave himself up to the touches. 

For the first time, Angel let himself imagine painting all that smooth skin, adorning his lover with art in the way he deserved to be. Rich gold and purple and green across his lover's back in bright swirls. It was a beautiful image. Slowly Pretty dropped off to sleep beneath his touch, and finally Angel slid back. He dried his hands on his pants, and then tugged the coverlet over both of them. He pulled the light cord by the bed as he settled in, and pulled Pretty in to sleep against his chest, finally at peace.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Just a little over a month between chapters this time!! :) 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy it very much. As always thanks to everyone who reviewed on my last chapter, it really is great knowing you all are so invested in this story!
> 
> Thanks to Lisa for the beta, as usual, and for the kick in the butt. With no further ado, please enjoy this 10k (Yes, it's a freaking HUGE chapter... You're welcome!)
> 
> Dare

Dean woke slowly, feeling gloriously warm and loose. Even the throb in his legs felt manageable; it had been getting better the last few weeks, but it still sucked most of the time. Today, though, he just stretched a little, smiling. He felt good. Cas was pressed up against his back, his long, lean weight the best hot pack Dean had ever had. Dean stretched again, cautiously, feeling the cast scratch against the sheets. After all, he didn’t want to accidentally kick Cas in the shin.

Cas shifted with Dean’s movement, the arm around Dean’s waist tightening slightly. “Mm… Good morning, beautiful.” He pressed a kiss to the back of Dean’s neck, and Dean felt the smile spread across his hairline. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mornin’, Cas,” Dean replied, blushing at the endearment. “I did. Did you?”

“Any night with you in my arms is a good one,” his dom replied, unrepentantly sappy. His hands slid up Dean’s back, beginning to knead Dean’s shoulders. “How do you feel this morning?” The muscles beneath his hands were much less knotty than they had been the night before, he noted with satisfaction.

Dean groaned and rolled his neck. “I feel really good, babe.” He smiled, tipping his head back so he could just catch the corner of Cas’ mouth in a kiss. “Thank you. I can’t remember the last time I felt this loose.”

Cas chuckled, turning his own head to deepen the kiss slightly. “You’re welcome. I’m glad,” he said as he broke it off. He lifted a hand to brush Dean’s hair out of his eyes. Since they’d come home from the hospital, Dean’s hair was a little longer than usual. He really liked it, even if he wasn’t sure that Dean did. But it was lovely to run his fingers through. “Would you like to take a shower before your mother arrives?”

A shower. Ugh. Dean scrunched up his nose. Showers had been the very, very best thing about living alone. John wasn’t there to tell him he was taking too long, and any evening he wanted he could take his time and wash the grime off. Since the accident, though, it was such an ordeal! “I probably should,” he sighed, even though he’d really rather lay in bed a little longer. Still, as soon as he was agreeing, Cas was pulling away. Typical.

Cas bent over, kissing Dean’s cheek and chuckling. “I’ll get the tub seat out while you sit up,” he said, rolling the wheelchair over to Dean’s side of the bed and checking that it was locked. Dean was grateful that Cas was letting him transfer on his own. He could do it, but Cas still preferred to stick close and make sure he didn’t lose his balance. It only took a minute for Dean to sit up and transfer over to the chair, and he carefully wheeled himself to the dresser. He was just pulling out his sweatpants when Cas reentered the room.

“Are you ready?” His dom settled a hand on his shoulder, and Dean nodded. 

“Yes… If you want to get me in there, I won’t complain.” He was feeling pretty good, but didn’t want to put himself off to a bad start. Wheeling with one hand was just so uncomfortable, and even the pressure he was allowed to put through his left leg didn’t make it easy to move around.

“Of course I will.” Cas took the handles, pushing the chair toward the door. Once they got into the bathroom, Cas turned the chair so that Dean could stand and hold onto the wall. He balanced just long enough for Cas to pull down his pants, and then he sat on the tub seat. 

“I feel like an old man,” he groused, frowning. 

“It’s only for a few more weeks,” Cas soothed, though he didn’t add that he suspected Dean may need to sit in the shower at least through Christmas. That is, if the amount of muscle mass that Gabriel lost when they were teenagers and he broke his leg was any indication of what Dean would be facing. 

“Hmph,” Dean grunted, working his pants down off of his leg. He unfastened the velcro snaps of his boot, and then shimmied his pants off. When he was a kid, he had never been body shy; the life they lived didn’t really allow for it. And now, well, Cas had seen it all mostly. “You have the bag?”

“I do.” Cas held up a garbage bag, and a big roll of duct tape. It wasn’t perfect, and inevitably it always seemed to leak _somewhere,_ but Dean could live with that until it dried. Cas covered Dean’s cast efficiently, then unwound the bandages from Dean’s hand. Jess had told them that he could get them wet, though it was lucky that his right hand was unharmed. It was always easier to bathe with his dominant hand

“Alright. Call me when you need to stand up… And wash your hair.” Cas lifted a hand, brushing it through Dean’s hair slowly. The soft strands felt so good. He couldn’t help but touch them every chance he got.

“I know, I know…” Dean grouched, but he turned his head into Cas’s touches anyway. Since his hair had gotten longer, it seemed that his dom couldn’t keep his hands off. It was kind of nice. As soon as Cas left, Dean started to wash himself. He didn’t want to linger too long and keep Cas from getting to shower himself.

The water streamed down around him and he rubbed the cloth across his chest, and down toward his legs. His mind wandered to the idea of Cas joining him in the shower. It really hadn’t been a common fantasy of his before he met Cas, but now? Now he loved the thought. 

He flushed at the idea. Cas would probably laugh at him; it was a silly idea anyway. Still… It would feel so good to get to touch every inch of his dom’s skin. He’d start at his neck, and wash him slowly. Angel wouldn’t have to do anything except relax and let go.

He’d follow the line of his spine down toward his back, to the abs that he kept hidden under those button ups and that terrible coat. He’d take his time, making sure to get him completely clean. His six pack would glisten, gorgeous and lickable. The washcloth in Dean’s hand mimicked the trail he’d follow, his own stomach tightening in response. He might lean in, pressing soft kisses to Cas’ stomach before he skipped over the prize, so to speak, and transferred his touch to his legs. When he was convinced Cas was clean, he’d come back up and clean him thoroughly. Tenderly. Cas would moan, and spread his legs, let Dean have access to whatever part of him that he wanted.

When the soap was washed clean, Dean would sink to his knees. It should feel degrading, but when Cas looked down at him with those big blue eyes it would just feel _safe_. Cherished. He’d swallow Cas down, pulling another cry from his dom’s lips. Cas’ hands would land in his hair, but they wouldn’t pull. Cas never hurt him, not even accidentally.

Dean caught his teeth in his lips, imagining the feel of Cas in his mouth. The thought of making Cas babble. How good it would feel to know that _he_ was the one making Cas make those noises. Cas’ long fingers would push through his hair, encouraging, and Dean would take him as deep as he could, focusing all his attention on pleasing his dom.

Cas would roll his head back, the warm water running in rivulets down his chest, hot and sweet in counterpoint to his dom’s musk. Cas would hardly be able to contain himself, and Dean moaned at the idea of the thrill of power that would come with Cas’ pleas.

He slid his hand down, starting to wash firmly between his legs, squeezing with just the right pressure as he imagined Cas’s breathy moan. “Dean… Dean…”

“Dean!” Cas rapped loudly on the door, and Dean’s eyes startled open. 

“Shit!” He realized to his mortification that he was _hard_. He hadn’t thought about it until that moment. Oh. God.

“Dean, are you alright?” Cas’ voice came through the door, concern evident. 

“Hey… Cas… Yeah. I’m almost done.” Dean knew his voice was a little strangled, but he really didn’t think he could help it.

“Oh… Are you ready for me to wash your hair?” Cas cracked the door and Dean yelped, immediately scrambling to cover himself.

“Not yet!” He practically shouted, his eyes wide. “Just, ah… Shit. Gimme a second, huh?”

“Oh… of... course, Dean,” Cas said, sounding a little puzzled, but he dutifully pulled the door closed.

Dean groaned, scrubbing his hands through his hair and down his face. Damn. He glared down at his traitorous cock, thankfully softening now from the surprise. Damn. He took another deep breath and blew out slowly. It took only a moment before he was, at most, mortified but unlikely to make a further fool of himself.

“Ok, Cas,” he said, making sure he was covered. His washcloth at least hid the remaining arousal. “Sorry, dude.”

Cas stepped back in. “It's fine,” he said, pulling the curtain back a little bit. “Are you ready for me to wash your hair?”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean was grateful Cas was willing to do that for him; washing one handed was a bitch. He tipped his head backward so that Cas could get his hair wet. “Just do a quickie today, you know? I don’t want to be in here when Mom rings the bell.”

Cas nodded, “Good point. And I have to shower myself.”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded as Cas reached for the cup they’d perched on the edge of the tub. He filled it and poured it gently over Dean’s hair.

Dean bit back a groan. He loved Cas’s hands in his hair but the last thing he needed was another boner. He reached out and handed Cas the shampoo.

Cas chuckled, “I guess I can’t play today.” He squirted a generous amount in his palm and quickly ran both hand through Dean’s growing hair and scalp. “I’d much rather take my time.”

“Mmyeah,” Dean nodded slightly, “‘nother time.”

Despite himself, Cas couldn’t make himself rush, though he certainly didn’t linger as he’d like. He was efficient, though, scrubbing Dean’s hair but making sure to scratch at his scalp a little the way that Dean loved. “Your hair is getting long,” he commented idly. 

“Yeah, I know…” Dean wrinkled his nose. “I don’t hate it, but it’s definitely getting time for a trim. Stupid wheelchair.” It was way too hard to get out of the house for something as unimportant as a haircut.

“Mm,” Cas agreed, reaching for the cup again to rinse. “Well, perhaps after your mother leaves I can tidy you up a bit. It won’t be my first time with a pair of scissors.” He chuckled. “Art camp can be wilder than most expect. Eyes closed, please.”

Dean grunted agreement. “Sure. Sounds good.” He tipped his head back and scrunched his nose so the water didn’t drift in, waiting as Cas rinsed him out completely. “All done?”

“Yes,” Cas confirmed, wiping a few errant bubbles from Dean’s eyes. “Come on, then,” he said, his voice soft and gentle. “Time to get out. Your mother will be here soon.”

Dean frowned. “Geeze.. Are you gonna have time to shower, babe?”

“Don’t worry,” Cas assured him. “I’ll just shower tonight. C’mon, let’s get you out.” He brought the chair up, helping Dean out of the shower and to begin to dry off. He ignored Dean’s little noise of protest. He knew Dean would want him to shower now, to not feel that Cas was missing out on anything, but Cas refused to let him.

It didn’t take long for the two of them to dress. Dean didn’t miss the concerned looks Cas was shooting him. “What?” He tugged his shirt down over his head, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Cas said, after giving him a long look. “I promise.” He smiled. Dean seemed to be a lot more relaxed than he had been when he first knocked on the bathroom door. There would be time to discuss Dean’s sudden, unusual anxiety later, when Mary was not due at any moment.

They rolled out together to the kitchen, where Dean busied himself getting the coffee on, and Cas went to empty the dish drain, working together in easy harmony.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The knock on the door alerting them to Mary's presence was soft, just enough to make Dean straighten in his chair. "That'll be mom," he said, and squirmed his hips back so that Cas could drive him toward the door. He didn't want to let his dom do all the navigating, but with the bandages on it was so difficult to maneuver the chair. He hoped that Jess released him from the gauze bandages soon, but she made it sound as though he were going to need to wear them for at least two weeks. The thought of being so helpless for so long nauseated him, though Cas never complained about the increased level of assistance he was giving to Dean.

"Hey mom," Dean said as he pulled the door open. Mary stood on the porch with bags of supplies. “What’s all that?” He frowned. Clearly she had decided that the day before's grocery haul was not nearly enough. “You didn’t need to go shopping again! You guys got me all kinds of stuff yesterday!” His stomach twisted uncomfortably. He didn’t want Mary thinking him a pity case. If it weren't for the fact that his disability payments hadn't kicked in yet, and he hadn't been paid in two weeks, he would have been insisting he pay her back. He refused to let Cas know that he hadn’t been paid. His dom didn’t exactly have a lot of spare money lying around. Since he was the one of the two of them with a ‘real’ job, Dean certainly wasn’t opposed to buying the groceries. It rankled that he wasn't able to just go out and get what he wanted from the store. He usually was a pretty careful budgeter, but this was definitely a new challenge.

"Hey, Dean,” Mary answered as Dean rolled back. She bent to give him a quick hug, and straightened to hug Cas before following them off the porch and back toward the kitchen. "I brought things for breakfast. I'm going to make you my signature cinnamon rolls, and then I thought I'd get started on making some casseroles and things to tide you two boys over for a while.”

"Uh, thanks mom,” Dean said, his pride warring with the grumble in his stomach. Cas was getting to be a better cook, but most of what he made still came out of a box. It was good to know that Cas wouldn’t let him starve, but it would be better to have something really home cooked. "Where're Sammy and Jess?" Not that the two of them had to come every time that Mary did, but it was a little bit unusual. Dean had gotten used to seeing them the last few weekends and certainly now, since he was so stuck in the chair, the two of them had been making a point to come and see him regularly.

"Oh, they were doing some kind of research project downtown. They said they should be home in time for lunch, so they're going to head over here as soon as they're done." She set her bags on the counters and glanced at the full coffee pot. "Mind if I have a cup?"

"Yeah! Sorry, sorry…” Dean flushed when he realized that he hadn't offered Mary a mug. What kind of host was he? He shook his head and wheeled toward the counter. "Do you take milk, sugar?" He reached up and grabbed one of the mugs off the counter, blessing Cas and his foresight for putting things where Dean could reach them. It took a little more effort than usual to pour the coffee, his hands shaking a little from the spike of embarrassment. He realized he couldn't really wheel back and hold the coffee cup, like he usually would, but Cas saved the day by joining him and picking up the mug. Dean shot him a thankful glance.

"No, black is fine,” Mary said, looking up from where she was sorting groceries on the table. Cas handed her the mug and she didn’t hesitate before taking a deep swig. "Mm.. That is delicious, Dean. You use a very good bean."

Dean chuckled softly "Thanks. That's about the only thing that I'll splurge on." A good cup of coffee and a good pie were two of his biggest weaknesses. He glanced up at Cas. "You like it too, don't you, babe?" He liked the fact that he could use such endearments about Cas right in front of Mary. John had been an entirely different story. Dean had been on the defensive from the get go, hesitant to reveal too much about his relationship to his hostile father. He would never have dared to use any such term then.

"Yes. It is a welcome change from the Folgers that we use at the apartment." He chuckled a little. "You will have spoiled me... I am not going to want to move back." He said it teasingly, but Dean's stomach gave a little flip flop. What if Cas _didn't_ move back? He could see them moving into this pleasant little mode, their happy routine becoming a _true_ day to day. The thought was, in equal parts, tempting and terrifying.That was the most alluring thing he could think of, but at the same time, it was possibly the most terrifying thought. He and Cas seemed to work well together, but after Dean got better, without the immediate need to take care of him, Cas would _really_ see what a bad sub he was, and that would be the end of them. 

He forced a smile, ignoring the concerned look on Cas' face, and he nodded with a small chuckle as well. "Well, I'm not going to want to let you go, so I guess we're even." He wasn't sure if Cas bought it, but pretending to smile helped the sickness to fade out of his stomach a little. He poured himself a little more coffee and took a swig, watching as Mary set her mug down and continued to unpack.

"I know you probably had some of the basics, but I figured that you can never have too many bags of flour and things, so I just bought what I needed. Do you mind showing me where I can find some bowls?" 

"Uh, yeah. They're on the third shelf, over there." Mary set out yeast, flour, milk and eggs, and Dean pointed to the cabinet over the stove. "Anything I can help with?" 

Mary crossed the room and opened the cabinet he indicated, pulling out a mixing bowl. "Just... Talk to me?" She glanced over her shoulder as she turned and began opening drawers. "And maybe tell me where the measuring cups and stuff are?" 

"Oh, yeah, they're all in the drawer next to the sink." He ignored the other question for a moment. Talk to her, as though it was just as simple as opening his mouth. He knew that she didn't like to hear too much about his life. It made her upset, and he really didn't want her to know why the talk about John and his other previous doms made him nervous. It was hard enough to talk to Cas about that shit, and Cas was _his soulmate_.

"Thanks." Mary pulled out the measuring cups and headed over to the ingredients on the counter."So what do you do for fun, Dean?" She’d been trying to be good. Sam told her that she’d made him nervous, not to push too hard. But this was her baby boy, her very own prodigal son. Lost and now found again.She wanted to know everything, and it was as good as having him to herself now, even with Cas hovering around. 

"I... Work on cars. Research." Dean shrugged. Fun wasn’t necessary in day to day life. Fun was _unusual_. The world always needed saving, who has time to goof off for no reason? "I mean, it's not like I have a ton of free time. If I'm not at work, John's usually calling me." He shrugged again. "What about you?"

Mary smiled, though it was sad. She had hoped to hear that Dean worked on cars just because he wanted to, not because he had to. It hurt to hear that he really did seem to be taking after his father. All work and no play makes for a very long life, and not in the good way. Still, she tried not to let her disappointment show. Dean would take it personally, and then Cas would jump in, and… Well. It could spiral very quickly. "I enjoy reading. Vonnegut is a personal favorite." She didn't miss how Dean's eyes lit up. "Do you know him?"

"Know him?" Cas piped up from the corner behind Dean, chuckling. "Dean has tee shirts with quotes... I am somewhat surprised he doesn’t have posters on the walls." He shook his head, but his tone was a little considering. Christmas was coming up, after all, and the only art Dean had were the posters Sam had bought him so urgently the day before. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he knows Vonnegut better than you do, Mama Mary.”

Dean flushed. "I think you’re a little bit biased,” he said, shaking his head. "I don't get it. But... Yeah. I do like Vonnegut."

"Oh, that's so great! What's your favorite book?" 

"That's a toss up," Dean said, sipping his coffee contemplatively. It was much easier to talk about Vonnegut than it was to discuss himself and his past. "Cats Cradle is maybe my favorite, but Slaughterhouse Five is really really good too." He shrugged. "Some of the lesser known ones, I love. I think I have them all. They're some of the only books that I actually carried everywhere with me, from the time I was in high school."

"That's wonderful," Mary agreed. She smiled and began to mix some hot tap water into the flour, mixing a thick and sticky dough. "I’ll have to pick your brain about them... Sam refuses to read them at all, he says that they are too 'cerebral' for him. If he reads, I think he prefers high fantasy." She grinned. "For someone as smart as he is, he can be such a snob about books."

"I don't think that I can believe that," Dean said, shaking his head. "I mean, he's so relaxed about literally everything."

Mary laughed. "Yes, he is, but trust me when I say books? Not so much." She shook her head and settled in to knead the dough firmly. "He has other talents, though. I suppose I can let it slide." She stuck out her tongue, rolling the dough firmly, trying to get it kneaded out and into a solid ball.

"No nut allergies, right?" She looked up at Dean expectantly, and he shook his head no.

"Oh, good." She looked at him carefully, and then nodded into the grocery bags. "I've got some pecans in there, do you think you'd like to dice them into the filling for me?"

Dean grinned at her gratefully. Even one handed he could chop, as long as he didn't care if they were a little bit on the big side. "Sure. Sounds great." He rolled up the the counter and reached into the bag. Cas appeared with a chopping board and the big knife.

"Please be careful, Pretty," he murmured his sub's ear, concern tinging his voice. He kept it low, though, because he didn't want Mary to feel that Dean was incapable of doing this. If he wanted to try, Cas didn't want to be the reason he didn't do it. 

"I'm fine," Dean responded, but there was no heat in his voice. He was grateful to know that his dom was concerned for him, even if he didn't need to be. After all, with his hand all bandaged, how much could he hurt himself? He nodded to the bag of pecans he'd found in the grocery sack. "Think you can open those up for me?"

"Of course." Cas opened the bag with a quick pop of his hands. He poured them out into the counter, and Dean scooped them up into a single pile. He carefully began to chop, glancing up at Mary as he did. "So I think that I'm going to just give them a quick chop. They don't need to be too tiny do they?"

"No, no, just so that they manage to get into the filling pretty evenly." Mary shrugged from where she was still kneading the dough. "I'll sprinkle them out as much as I can." She leaned over and snagged a box of plastic wrap that she had brought, and set the dough into the bowl. Covering it with a sheet of plastic, she carried it over to the oven and turned it up a little bit. "These are going to rise. They are delicious; I hope you like a little spice?"

"Spicy cinnamon rolls?" Dean glanced up, and saw his mother standing there with a sriracha bottle in one hand. 

"Yes, I do a sriracha cinnamon glaze on the pecans," she said grinning wickedly. "They're Sam's favorite. They don't travel well, though, so he only gets them when he comes home, or when I come to visit." She nodded to the bag. "And I do a fresh, sweet glaze on top, with vanilla ice cream. They're delicious."

"Damn... That sounds amazing,' Dean said. "I don't think I ever had anything like that before. I can't wait to taste them." He finished chopping the nuts and scooped them all to a pile at the edge of the board. "Teach me the recipe? I might be able to recreate it."

"But then what reason will Sam have to come and visit me?" Mary laughed. "I don't know if I want to give away all of my secrets." She reached into the cabinet for a pot. "Well." She grinned over her shoulder at Dean. "I suppose for you I can do that." She shook her head and opened up the hot sauce. "First we're gonna put a couple tablespoons of the sriracha, and then we'll add a little bit of brown sugar. We're gonna mix it up and get it all melted down, then we'll add the pecans. After they're all coated and everything, we'll spread them on a pan to cool. Then I give them another little quick chop before I add them to the filling of brown sugar and cinnamon."

"Sounds great," Dean enthused, rolling closer to watch as Mary began to cook the pecans on the stove. "Mmm.. Smells great already. I can see how Sammy loves these, if they taste as good as this filling smell."

He shook his head and leaned back; Cas had appeared behind him and he relished the warmth of his dom's stomach against his chest. "So what are Sammy and Jess researching out there today?"

"Sam was being very close-mouthed about it," Mary said, shaking her head. "Just that it was something about some property. I have no idea." She stirred the nuts carefully. "I suppose we'll find out when he comes over, right?"

"I guess," Dean said, shrugging a little bit. "So you've been teaching for a long time, haven't you?" He wanted to know about his mother, and this was interesting. His mother was a little bit of an enigma, and it was the first time he'd really been around her without Sammy as a buffer. Thankfully, she seemed more focused on the cinnamon rolls than she was on grilling Dean, and he knew that Cas wouldn't hesitate to jump in if he felt like he needed to.

He squeezed Dean's hand firmly, as though he'd read his mind. There was something amazing to know that Dean was with this dom, this man who cared about him so deeply. 

"Yes, I have." Mary smiled. "I had a lot of different jobs, but when we settled back at your grandparents, I really wanted to be in a better and more stable place. So I started teaching, and I ended up really enjoying it.” She glanced up at Dean, still just so grateful to be back in the same place with her boy. “It was great to have the summers off when Sam did, and to know that we had pretty much the same schedule." She shrugged. "I don't know what I'd do without it, now."

"Yeah, I know the feeling. Once I met Mal and started at the garage…” He trailed off. What if he never could walk that long again? That sent a wave of anxiety through him. The doctors at the hospital had explained the risk; it was a long shot, but years of nutritional neglect had left him with weaker bones than most twenty-somethings. Even being in pretty good shape wasn’t really enough to correct for years of near starvation and boxed mac-and-cheese dinners made without the butter or milk. He forced himself not to think how bad it sucked that he might be screwed over again because of John’s failures over a decade ago.

"I’m so glad to know that you met him,” Mary said earnestly. "Mal seems to be a very good man. It is clear that he cares for you deeply."

"He does. I don't know what's wrong with him, but he does." He chuckled a little bit, even as Cas squeezed his shoulder in a gentle warning. It was hard sometimes to know what was over the line. Cas didn't even like him _joking_ about himself negatively. It was kind of sweet, but sometimes it made him a bit wary of how Cas might react when something just snuck out. Not that Cas would hurt him. At least, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t. He’d said he wouldn’t. Still, caught him off guard, but it was starting to make him notice just how often he did it.

"Mal is a man with very good taste," Cas said flatly. He didn't like to hear Dean talking down about himself, even so mildly. He wanted Dean to know he was worth so much more than how he talked about himself. Cas shook his head and squeezed Dean's shoulder again; since the accident, every day with Dean was much more obviously a gift. "And I am very grateful that he cares about Dean as deeply as he does." He blew out a slow breath. "When Dean was injured, it was Mal who ensured that I was there as soon as I could be. I will forever be thankful for his foresight to know that I would want to be there."

He smiled a little bit as Mary turned a full beaming smile at them. "Oh, that is so wonderful to hear. I’m glad you have so many people who want to take care of you, Dean." Even if he didn’t seem to think he deserved it.

She pulled the dough out of the oven and shook a little flour onto the counter before tipping the risen dough out and beginning to knead it again. "You know, your brother has never understood how to make a dough. Every time I cook he always acts like it's some kind of magic.” She laughed. "He can work a grill all day. Cook any kind of soup or sauce that you ask. But give him flour and yeast and it's like you're asking him to reinvent the wheel.:"

If Dean was startled by the abrupt change of topic, he didn't show it. He just nodded. "Yeah, I remember the first time that I baked a loaf of bread. There was this lady in this little diner in Topeka. She taught me how to proof dough, and make sure that I could knead it out." He smiled a little bit at the memory. "She made this _amazing_ pepperoni bread. Like, it's so good. I don't even think I can explain it." He bit his lip. "So much cheese. I've never had a bread that stretched like that. It was so amazing. I kind of can make it, but..." He shrugged helplessly." Never as good as Traci made it, you know?"

"Oh, yeah, I have a few like that. Your grandmother makes a banana pudding that I've never managed to figure out how she actually does it." She laughed. "She's even made it with me, talked me through it, and it still doesn't come out like she makes it."

Cas sat down at one of the kitchen chairs, watching as Mary began to roll out the dough. "I cannot wait to eat your mother's Christmas roast." He glanced over at Dean, grinning. "Last year, Sam invited me home with him for Christmas. I had never had a roast for Christmas, because my family always makes a ham. But your grandmother makes a roast. It is delicious."

"I still... Can't believe I get to say 'my grandmother'." It was so strange to hear his friend referring to his grandmother, to know that his boyfriend had known his grandparents longer than Dean himself had. But at the same time, it was good to know that he _had_ a grandmother. "I can't wait to taste it, though. Christmas dinner for me, if I’m by myself, is usually a ham steak in front of the TV.' He chuckled. "Last year Mal made me come to his house, though... Sue let me help with the ham, and damn,I don't think I've ever had that kind of ham before.” He grinned. “It was amazing, all sharp and spicy and delicious. I don’t even know what it was, just that it was fantastic."

"Mm. That does sound good.” Mary shook the nuts from the pan and began to chop them again, breaking up the sugar that had caramelized, and then mixed them into a mixture of cinnamon and sugar. "Cas, can you please microwave me some butter so that I can spread it on the rolls?"

Cas stood with a nod, crossing to the fridge. He ignored the butter Mary had brought with her, placing a few tablespoons in a little bowl and putting it in the microwave to heat. It didn't take too long to melt, and when he carried it over to her, Mary took it with a nod of thanks. He settled back beside Dean to watch as she spread the butter and sugar across the stretched dough. "I cannot wait to see how these come out; I remember them being quite delicious when I was in Wisconsin last year."

Mary rolled up the dough quickly, folding the nuts and everything into the center. She buttered a baking dish that Cas must have gotten out when he microwaved the other butter, and then began to slice the roll. She set them in the pan and carried them to the oven. "Alright," she said, rubbing her hands together. "Now we can start to prep things for other meals while this cooks."

Dean nodded. "Cool... Sam raves about your hot chicken salad." He wiggled his eyebrows. "I hear that has potato chips on it. Is that going to be one of them?"

Mary laughed. "Yes, it will be," she agreed. "It's one of my favorites. It's very tasty, and easy to make in copious quantities. We'll also do a tortilla bake. I love casseroles." She grinned. "They’re very midwestern." She began to unpack some more things from the bags, and then looked over at the fridge. "Let's do the chicken first, because chopping that is going to take the longest time. You can chop the vegetables for me, while I slice the chicken?"

"Sure thing." Dean was grateful that apparently the recipes Mary had picked required only big chops, because he wanted to be able to participate. Cas had tried, but most of what was already in Dean’s kitchen wasn’t easy for one handed cooking. It felt good to know that Mary had planned ahead things that Dean could cook, too. "Just a straight dice?"

"Nothing fancy," Mary agreed. She set out mayonnaise, and then a bottle of mustard. "Just an inch or so chop. Nothing too big." She took the package of chicken that Cas handed her and opened it with a quick slice of her knife, opening it up and placing it onto the cutting board. 

Cas began to wash the celery and carrots, taking them to Dean as soon as they were clean. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"You can chop the carrots," Dean said as he took the head of celery. "I think you probably won't chop your hand off while you're dicing that." He grinned and glanced up at Mary. "This about the right size?"

Mary glanced at the piece of celery Dean held up, and nodded. "That looks fine, Dean, I wouldn't worry about it. It doesn't need to be perfect, after all."

"Great. Thanks." He went back to chopping the vegetables, settling into a quiet rhythm. It always surprised him when other people ‘fit’ in his kitchen. It had taken a few days before Cas found a spot, though Sam and Jess had slid in pretty quickly. Dean himself always felt a little bit off when he cooked in someone else’s space. But Mary had just set up camp as though she’d always belonged there, and somehow it felt right. 

Suddenly, there was a soft tune, and Mary's voice rose just above a hum. “ _Hey Jude... Don't make it bad... Just take a sad song.. and make it better..._ ” Dean's stomach flip-flopped. He couldn't believe it. He hadn't imagined it! That tune had haunted many lonely nights in dark hotel rooms. He'd always loved that song, but had half convinced himself that Mary's voice had been a dream he'd made up simply out of a desire to have a memory of his mother. He could remember Mary singing that to him when he was small, in his bed with the car bedspread, but John certainly had never encouraged something as frivolous as singing Dean to sleep. 

He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He hadn't imagined! He smiled a little bit, and screwed up his courage. “ _Hey Jude,_ ” he joined in when she got to the next verse. He could feel her eyes suddenly on him, but he forced himself to keep his voice steady. _"Remember, to let her into your heart, then you can start, to make it better..._ " They went through the song and when they finished, Mary's eyes were watery. 

"Do... Do you remember that, baby?" She didn't want to know, a part of her. It would be heartbreaking to think that Dean was just joining in because he knew the song. But the answering shine in Dean's eyes answered her question in a way that his voice might not have.

"Uh... Yeah. I thought..." Dean shrugged. "I always thought I made that up, you know? John never sang at night." He smiled a little bit. "But yeah. I remember. You used to sing that a lot, didn't you?"

Mary nodded warmly. "Yes, I did," she agreed. "I always loved that song. And your father was always playing all of those heavy metal bands, I wanted to give you a little more balance." She laughed. "I'm not sure that the Beatles were really the best bet, but they were a start." She shrugged again and dropped the chicken into the pan so she could start to brown it with butter, salt and pepper. "That's one of my favorite bands, the Beatles." 

Dean tucked that note about his mother away as he had any other tidbit he’d learned since he met Sam, locking it into his heart. It was so great to make her a _real_ person in his head. There was nothing he'd ever loved as much as he loved the memory of his mother. But now he had something solid and real and that was amazing.

"I still really love metal," Dean admitted. "But when I got old enough to buy tapes of my own, I bought all the Beatles stuff. It was... really something else." He'd had to buy them one at a time, and tuck them away. His little pocket in his backpack that he'd carried only held twenty tapes or so, but he hadn't hesitated to buy those. Their discography made him feel close to his mother, even if he wasn't sure that she had actually sung those songs. Knowing that she did? Made him want to pull them out and play them right that second, just to hear her sing along. He’d eventually bought the LPs, too, but they didn’t quite have the same sentimental value as his old walkman and cassettes did.

Cas smiled softly as he watched his Dean and Mary talk. There was something wonderful and sweet to see in their interactions. It was hardly fair that Mary had been kept from her son for so long. He couldn't imagine her pain, to lose her baby when she had, and to see her doting on Dean made him smile.

The scent of the cinnamon rolls began to fill the room and Cas let out a little sound of pleasure despite himself. "Mama Mary, your cinnamon rolls should be against the law." He shook his head. "Truly, to come into our kitchen and make something so delicious smelling, and making us _wait_ to eat them..."

Mary's laugh was musical. "Well I am ever so sorry, Cas," she said with a teasing shrug. "But I suppose there isn't much to do except wait." She stirred the chicken carefully, making sure that it didn't get overly brown. "Perhaps you can crush those potato chips for me? They're going to go on top. By the time you're done with that, and this chicken is ready to come out and get mixed up in the casserole, the rolls will be able to come out." 

Cas sighed a put upon sigh, just to see the huff of laughter leave Dean's lips. "I suppose I can do that," he agreed, grinning and reaching into the grocery bag to pull out the bag of potato chips. He popped the bag on one corner so the air didn't explode, and then began to use the heel of his hand to crush the chips inside.

Mary pulled the chicken off and dumped them into the bowl. "Dean, we need two cups of mayonnaise, and then we can add all those vegetables in here." She let Dean scoop the mayo out, though it was a little awkward to stabilize the jar on one knee with his elbow. He managed, though, and she made sure to stay back and let him. He added the vegetables a little bit at a time to keep from dropping them.

"We're going to add a little bit of salt and pepper,” Mary said as Dean scooped everything into the bowl. "And then we'll add cheese and put it in the pan, then put the potato chips on top."

"Damn," Dean said, and then flushed. "Uh, sorry. _Darn_ ," he amended. "You're after my own heart, mama." He grinned a little bit. "Mayo, potato chips... It's going to be great, if this is anything like I'd expect." 

"Oh it's damn good," Mary said with a wink. "Oh, oh! I almost forgot the water chestnuts." She shook her head and reached for another can. "Is there a can opener somewhere, Dean?" The casserole lost something without the water chestnuts, and she didn't want to turn out anything less than a perfect dish. 

"Uh, yeah, under the silverware drawer," Dean said, nodding to the counter where they'd gotten some things from earlier. Mary pulled it out of the drawer, opening and draining the can into the sink.

"I don't think I've ever had those before," Dean admitted, looking at those curiously. Mary grinned.

"They're kind of bland, really. They're like... A vegetable crouton. They don’t do much on their own, but they won't cook down as much as the carrots and the celery will. You're going to be grateful for the crunch."

"I believe you," Dean said, even though he was a bit more skeptical about the dish now. The more vegetables in a recipe, the less he trusted it.

Before he could comment further, there was a knock on the door. Dean blinked, and looked up. "Oh... Uh...That's probably Bobby." He flushed. "I hope you don't mind, mom. I told him that he could come over if he wanted, I thought it might be nice to talk hunting, without Mal and Sue around, you know?"

She smiled. "Yeah, I would," she agreed, nodding. "I think that you're right... It's a great chance to catch up. I've missed him. And I want to talk to him to see what he knows about John..." She paused, glancing at Dean. "I need to make sure he doesn't come sniffing around Bobby again, if he's going to be in contact with you." 

Dean frowned. "I... guess." Cas returned a moment later, and Bobby followed him into the kitchen before Dean could finish the thought. Dean smiled. "Hey, Bobby, good to see you. Did you have a good night?"

"Yeah, I did." Bobby grinned. "Smells good in here, boy..." He clapped Dean on the shoulder, clearly not wanting to make Dean feel uncomfortable. "And Mary... Good to see you again, too."

"You too, Bobby." Mary grinned, stirring up the bowl of vegetables and chicken. "You're just in time for coffee, and the cinnamon rolls should be out in like...." She glanced over her shoulder. "Five minutes. So, yeah, good timing." She grinned. "Have a cup, right Dean?"

"Oh, yeah, help yourself," Dean agreed. He nodded to Bobby, and pointed to the cabinet where the mugs were. "It's pretty fresh." 

Bobby crossed to the cabinet, grabbing out a mug and pouring a full mug of the hot brew.  
He took a seat at the table, sipping his coffee. "Looks like ya’ll have been busy." He remarked, and Dean nodded. 

"Yeah, mom's not just making cinnamon rolls, she’s decided she’s gonna feed me for a month!" He grinned and reached for his own cup of coffee. "So." He heaved out a sigh. "What brought you here? I mean... Really. Not that it isn't great to see you, Bobby, but..." their conversation the day before had been cut short, stilted. "Why are you here?"

"Well," Bobby was suddenly very interested in his coffee mug. "I always wondered about you, Dean." He shook his head. "You were the one that got away. Your daddy wouldn't let me give you a stable home." He looked up, suddenly earnest. "You ever wonder why you quit gettin’ to see me?” 

“I always figured John pissed you off, and you told him to stay away.” Dean shrugged. “I mean, it happened often enough, couple other hunters out there who won’t even look at the Impala, you know?”

Bobby laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, I do know. John has a way of burning bridges.” He shook his head, meeting Dean’s eyes evenly. “Dean, I tried to keep you, when you were just starting high school. You were maybe… Fourteen or so? That last summer I saw you.” His eyes widened. “Damn! That’s the reason you wore long sleeves that whole summer! No matter how hot you got!”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah… John told me to. Said you wouldn’t keep me if you knew, and I really wanted to spend the summer with you.”

Bobby growled lowly. “That asshole. John took you, blacked my eye to do it, and never brought you back. He still talked to me, over the phone and all. I mean, I was one of the only guys who would still talk to him. I offered to take you over school breaks, whatever he needed, but he never brought you by again." His eyes were suddenly very hard, and he shook his head. "I should never have let you go. I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean swallowed, squirming. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. Bobby had tried to keep him? And John hadn't let him? Actually, that was very believable. Dean had never really been allowed to make friends, or to join clubs. He went to school, he came home. Eventually, there had been the minor rebellions. The parties, the loud places where he could give in to the feelings of submission. There wasn't much else for him to do, except to make the best of a bad situation. But what if Bobby had kept him? That... What would have happened to John?

Dean smiled faintly. "I don't blame you, Bobby," he said. "It wasn't your fault. I mean. Not your fault." He shifted in his chair again, and looked up when Cas placed a warm hand on his shoulder. He relaxed into his dom's touch, and sighed again. "John was a douche back then, and I doubt that he would have let you do very much with me anyway. So, you know. Not your fault."

"Don't make excuses for that man, boy," Bobby said, and this time his voice was hard. "Your daddy knew damn well what he was doin', and he wasn't thinkin' about anyone but himself. He should have given you a proper home, or failin' that, let you stay with people who wanted to." He swallowed. "Me an' Ellen, we really wanted you, Dean." He huffed out a laugh. "But you don't need to be hearin' all about my regrets. Just suffice it to say that I've missed you. And I’m real glad to see how good you grew up."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said. He meant that. Guys like Bobby didn't come around too often in life, and he really appreciated the older man's attempt to give him a more stable life. His mind circled around to the rest of what Bobby had said, and he frowned. "So you and Ellen, huh?" He shook his head. “I still can’t quite wrap my mind around that.”

Seeing a man like Bobby Singer blush was a rare privilege. There was precious little on the planet that could shock a man like Bobby, but apparently Ellen Harvelle did. "Well, y' know... It's not an easy world out there, that we live in."

Mary grinned, chiming in from the stove. "How long have you been together?"

"Oh, about seven years, give or take." He shrugged, "It just sort of... happened.Anyway, Jo's a good girl, and when she realized her momma had the same feelings for me that I had for her, she told us to get over ourselves." He grinned. "Don't know what I would do without them, now." His smile turned melancholy; clearly he was imagining their house with Dean in it. Thankfully, he didn't voice that thought.

"Well good for you two, Bobby," Dean said honestly. They were good people, and it was even better to know that Bobby had people who cared about him. “You two, and Jo… Hey, whatever happened to old Rumsfield?” He was a little wistful; the old guard dog had been a good friend.

Bobby sighed, lifting his mug in a silent salute. “Yeah, I had to put the old boy down a couple years back. Got Rumsfield the second mindin’ the yard now.” He grinned. “Same bloodline, actually. My Rummy sired some pups off a bitch for another hunter a few times. When I had to put him down, Jimmy gave me one of his grandpups.”

Bobby took another swig of his coffee as the timer beeped on the oven, and Dean perked up. "Oh... Please tell me that means the cinnamon rolls are done?" Dean’s mouth watered at the very thought of those rolls, the sweet caramel and the spicy pecans. 

"They are," Mary affirmed as she headed into the oven and pulled them out. "I'll make the caramel sauce in just a minute, while these cool..." She busied herself putting the chicken salad in and setting the timer, and then pulling some ice cream out of the freezer. "The caramel glaze just takes a minute, so hold your horses for me, alright?"

“Okay, okay…” Dean laughed a little bit. “Man…,” he turned back to Bobby, “Well, I’m sorry to hear about him. He was a good dog.”

“Yeah, he was.” Bobby grinned. “You should get yourself a dog, Dean. Bet John would think twice about stoppin’ by unannounced if you did. I could get you in touch with Jimmy, get one of Rummy’s kin for you.”

Dean snorted. “Thanks but no thanks, Bobby,” he said, hiding how touched he was that Bobby would go to such trouble for him. It was a nice thought, but not really good for him. “I’m away at work way too much. Not fair to a dog. And look at me like this! It’s gonna be months before I’m up to doing walking or anything.” He shook his head. “Nah. No dogs.”

“What about a cat?” Mary chimed in from the stove, where she was mixing up the caramel sauce. “They’re pretty self-sufficient.”

“A cat?” Dean shook his head. “Nah…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m really not cut out to be a pet owner. Though, there was this one landlady we had in Witchita when I was a kid. She had this cat, named Manchester.” He laughed, his voice turning a little wistful. “Biggest cat I’ve ever met, he had to be like fourteen or fifteen pounds. Every time I sat down on the front steps, he damn near knocked me over trying to get petted.”

“That sounds very sweet,” Cas said, grinning. He could imagine Dean, cuddling a cat. Or Dean, stretched on the couch with a cat across his chest. It would really be a sight to see.

“Yeah, yeah…” Dean blushed. “Sometimes I miss that old furball.” He glanced at Mary. “Is the caramel almost done, mom?”

“Soon!” Mary laughed. “You’re worse than Sam, I think… It’s just another minute. You don’t want watery caramel, do you Dean?”

Dean rolled his head, stretching his neck. "Oh, geeze… I guess not." He grinned. "This is torture, though! Making me wait like this!" But he couldn't deny that it was the best kind of torture, knowing that at the end of it he was going to get an amazing cinnamon roll.

"So Ellen heard through the grapevine that Mary was looking for John again." Bobby looked over at Dean, changing the subject to something a bit more sober. "We didn't even know you two were related, until it got out that your mom was looking for John."

Dean frowned. "Looking for John? Mom?" He turned his attention to her. "You weren't looking for him, were you?"

Mary smiled up sheepishly from where she was making the caramel sauce at the stove. "Well, Dean... It's like this. I _know_ you can take care of yourself, and I'm not trying to step on toes. But John is... Well. He's a poison.” She stirred the sauce a little more fiercely, clearly working her frustrations out on the pan so she wouldn’t shout. “That man only cares about himself, and it's long past time we got rid of him.” Bobby grunted his agreement, his eyes fixed hard on Dean. “He doesn't need to be hanging around or bothering you, but the only way that anyone will be able to get through to him is if we do it as a community."

Dean's stomach flipped. "No. Mom, no, you can't do that to him. It's... Look, he's not a great guy, okay? I get that. But he's done a lot of good for a lot of people, and it's definitely not any of our business to be trying to deal with him." He swallowed hard, his heart starting to race. He wanted to get out, but he knew he couldn't wheel far enough away. They were in the house with him; they could follow him anywhere. He could see the same thoughts on Bobby's lips, and he shook his head. "Leave him alone. It's not... I'm just one person, okay, and he's done way more good for way more people than me."

Cas's hand squeezed on his shoulder again, and Dean took in a deep breath. "Look. I'm not... I can't talk about this right now, okay? It's really... It's fine."

Bobby frowned, but Mary nodded. She'd learned from the last time she was in town that she had to be flexible and let Dean have what he needed. "Are you ready for a cinnamon roll?" A strategic change of topic seemed to be the rule of the day as far as getting Dean to feeling safe and secure. 

"Uh. Yeah. Yeah, that's good." Dean suddenly doubted that he'd be able to eat anything, but it would be worth it to try to stomach the food. After all, Mary had cooked it, and he didn't want to be rude. He settled in and let her put the plate in front of him. "I’m sorry," he murmured, his voice a little above a hoarse whisper. "I mean, I didn't mean to freak out on you."

"Don’t you worry, boy," Bobby grunted from around his coffee. “We all have our sore spots.” Bobby narrowed his eyes shrewdly. He could tell that Dean, like many victims he'd spoken to over the course of his life, was somewhat easily flustered. There was no reason to make Dean feel any more uncomfortable. He was such a good investigator because he knew how to let people take things at their own pace. That being said, of course, John was digging himself a deeper grave with every word out of Dean's mouth. He couldn't imagine the young, vivacious teenager he'd known turning into this man who was afraid of his own shadow.

He could remember defending his own father that way, before he'd grown big enough to learn that the man was an unmitigated asshole without any semblance of redeeming qualities. He didn't want to have to teach Dean the same lesson, but apparently that was happening. "Don't worry about it." The bite of cinnamon roll that he took turned to ash in his mouth, but he still managed a wan smile for Mary. The tone in the room grew decidedly darker.

The sound Cas made as he bit into his cinnamon roll was decidedly improper. “Mama Mary, you have outdone yourself again.” He made a show of licking caramel sauce off of his fingers, groaning again.

Bobby didn’t hesitate to take a matching bite. “They sure are good,” he agreed, not even waiting to swallow all the way before he spoke. “You take after your mama in the kitchen.” He chuckled, washing down the bite with a swig of coffee. “Don’t tell Ellen, ‘cause she’s the baker in our house, but these may be the best I’ve ever had.”

“It’s nothing,” Mary demurred, though her eyes flicked once to Dean to gauge his response. He hadn’t yet taken another bite, but he seemed to be relaxing with the attention off of him. “Just a recipe I’ve played with now and then. I’m glad you like them.”

Dean let the conversation wash over him, looking longingly at his own roll. He knew from Cas’ response that these really were as awesome as he’d expected. Determinedly, he took a swig of coffee to rinse out his mouth, then picked up his own roll and took a big bite. He wanted what Cas was having: Mama Mary’s World Famous Cinnamon Rolls, ™ and he’d be damned if he’d let John steal that, too. The sweet spice rolled over his tongue, and this time he let himself enjoy it.

“Real good, mom,” he said when he’d swallowed. “Damn. I can see why Sam comes all the way back to Wisconsin for these.” Mary’s answering grin made it all worth it.

“Thank you, Dean,” she said brightly. “I’m so glad you like them! So…” The mood sufficiently lightened, she picked off a bit of roll and popped it into her mouth. “What else do you boys do on your weekends, other than work and research?”

"Well, with the holidays approaching, I’ve booked about a craft show every other week.” Cas took a swallow of his coffee. “It’ll be a little more difficult without Dean, though. He helped me out most thoroughly at the last one," he said, grinning. "I sold more paintings as a result of his organization and salesmanship than I have in quite a long time. I do not know what I would have done without him."

"Oh, really?" Bobby sounded much more honestly interested than Dean might have expected. But then, this Bobby really wasn’t the Bobby Dean thought he knew when he was younger. "A craft show, huh? And you paint?"

"Yes. I am studying to be an art teacher; I earn pocket money with my paintings. It is a way to make the money my brother is able to send me stretch a little bit further." He smiled. "And I was most grateful for Dean's assistance for my last one. It was a thoroughly enjoyable experience."

“Oh?” Mary stood with her mug, refilling it before lifting it questioningly toward the men. Bobby and Cas each lifted their mugs, though Dean shook his head. He was feeling shakey enough without adding more caffeine to the mix.

"Yes. Dean manned my cash booth, and I will tell you, I have rarely had a more enjoyable time listening to customers. Dean has quite a way with words.” His free hand found Dean’s knee beneath the table, squeezing warmly. “Half way through the morning, an old high school... I hesitate to say rival, because that seems so very telenovela. But an old high school rival stopped by, and purchased a custom piece of art from me.” He looked up at Bobby to explain. “I do custom caricatures, with a variety of prices depending on difficulty. He attempted to avoid paying the entirety of his bill, but Dean stood up for me quite bravely."

Dean blushed but the anxiety was fading as Cas spoke. It was much easier to eat the cinnamon roll when Cas was carrying the conversation and he knew that he didn't really have to worry about answering too many questions. 

Before Bobby could ask the inevitable follow-up, there was a sharp rap on the front door followed by the creak of the hinges. 

Cas was on his feet in seconds, but visibly relaxed when Sam called in. “Just us, guys!” 

A moment later he and Jess appeared, dropping their book bags well within the doorway, out of Dean’s path. “Mm... Damn, mom, I didn’t know you were making your cinnamon rolls for breakfast!” 

Sam made a beeline for the cabinet, pulling out plates and mugs for himself and Jess. Jess paused, bending to kiss Mary’s cheek and to squeeze Dean’s shoulder before she poured coffee for herself and Sam. Sam loaded their plates with cinnamon rolls and joined everyone at the table. “Just in time… They’re still warm.” He grinned, shoving half a roll in his mouth at once. “Mmm… Damn,” he muttered, muffled. “Awesome.”

Dean watched his brother bemusedly maneuver his kitchen like a pro. Whenever John came to visit, admittedly only a few times over the years, it had felt like a _violation_ whenever he’d gone and taken whatever he wanted. Now? Watching Sam and Jess take over his kitchen and set themselves up felt right. Normal. “Dude, gross,” he said, laughing and tossing a wadded up napkin at his brother. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Sammy grinned at him, crumbs on his teeth, but he swallowed before he spoke again. “You, my man, are in for some big surprises.”

“Really,” Mary turned to her younger son, “what kind of surprises? Good ones, by the look of that glint in your eye.”

Sam bounced his brows as he looked from his mom to his brother, “Could be. Jess and I spent the morning at the records building downtown.” He nodded to his bookbag. “Found some interesting information for you about the ownership records of the house… I’ll show you after breakfast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to popular demand... 
> 
> http://realhousemoms.com/sweet-sriracha-pecans/ sriracha pecans are a real thing. You can chop these and add them to your favorite cinnamon roll recipe. :)
> 
> The ice cream caramel sauce my mother makes and I cannot recreate it, or else I'd share it.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Dare


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow... Been a while. I do apologize. Life has once again gotten in the way. But I promise, I will not abandon this fic! (And even if I did, I'd like, amend the summary or something so people would know.) But I have no intention whatsoever to do that to all of you lovelies!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter, it's so lovely to know that you all are still enjoying this story! And thank you to Lisa, as always, for the amazing beta and keeping me on track at my whiniest.

They chatted while Sam ate, though Dean’s eyes flitted several times to the backpack sitting on the floor. It seemed like forever before Sam finally stood and picked up his dishes, stacking Jess’ empty plate on his as he went. “Anyone else for coffee?”

“Yeah, man, thanks,” Dean said, nudging his mug over with his good hand. The contents of that backpack were practically burning a hole in his mind. John always said his curiosity was his best and worst feature. Sam dropped his plate in the sink and grabbed the pot, filling Dean’s mug and then Mary and Bobby’s when they also nodded for more. Jess waved him off and took the last sips from her mug.

“So, Sam,” Mary said as she leaned back in her chair. “Are you going to tell us what you were researching now?” She smirked teasingly. “The suspense is killing me.”

Sam sat back down, tipping his mug at Mary before he snagged his backpack with one hand and dragged it close. “Okay, so I was at the hall of records today.” He pulled out a sheaf of papers, setting it on the table. “Public records stuff, you know?”

Dean frowned. What the heck did that have to do with him? “That sounds pretty boring, dude.”

“Says you.” Sam grinned. “Well, I decided to look up my apartment building, and the coffee shop Jess works at. But we had to have a variety of buildings, so I figured I might as well pull your house.” Sam said, spreading out the pile of papers. “That was where it got interesting. Look at this,” he flipped through them and then pulled a contract out and set it on top. “I found this and I had to make a copy for you." He pushed the papers toward Dean, who glanced at them and shrugged.

"So? That's my rental agreement." He frowned. "But... Why was that at the house of records?" Didn't landlords keep that crap? "And why the hell were you looking my house up anyway?"

"Well, I didn’t _plan to_ , Dean.” Sam sighed. “I just figured that it was easier to look up a residence I knew, so, I used yours.” He took a swig of his coffee. “It shouldn’t have been there, if you’re a renter, and that’s the point." Sam tapped a long finger on one of the papers. "Rental agreements aren’t kept at the hall of records. Deeds are. This is _not_ a rental agreement, or even a lease. Dean... Do you remember signing these?" 

"Yeah, I do." Dean frowned. Not a rental agreement? Had he been squatting or something all this time? "About three months after he dropped me off, John came back and brought his buddy, who owns the place. They had all these papers and shit... John said I had to sign the rental agreement in case somethin’ happened, because he didn’t want the cops coming out here. The house was vacant like a year before I moved in. I signed 'em, made dinner, and they left the next morning.”  
More evidence of John's callousness made Sam's stomach turn. He couldn’t believe he was related to the guy. He shook his head. "Well, Dean, he lied to you. These aren't lease papers, it’s a _deed_. That hunter guy didn't lease you the house, he sold it to you."

“Dean,” Jess could see the subtle changes in Dean that only another sub might notice, his shoulders tightening and his breathing growing shallower, “what did you know about this guy?” 

Dean’s stomach flipped. How the _hell_ do you miss the fact that you _own a house_? Did John play him? He ignored Jess’s question, “Sammy this makes no sense." Dean looked at his brother, frowning. "I didn't take out a loan, and I've been paying him every month..." 

“You,” Sam interrupted, “well, actually, John, could have gotten the house for as little as a dollar in what’s called ‘consideration’. There didn’t have to be a loan." Sam began to shuffle the papers. "Didn't you say you pay the taxes on it?"

Cas frowned, squeezing Dean’s knee. He could hear the tension in Dean’s voice, and offered a small reassuring smile when his boyfriend glanced at him. He didn’t want to interrupt, but anything involving John was apt to get out of hand quickly. 

Dean let out a long breath as he leaned away from the table. “This is none of your business!” He shoved his chair away, jolting his dom’s hand free from his knee, ignoring the concerned look on Cas’ face. “I live here! I pay the rent!”

He spun away from the table, losing control of the chair for a moment before getting a grip on the wheel with his good hand. “I don’t get why the hell you were looking up my house, anyway!” Dean’s head was reeling. Did he really own a house? His stomach twisted with embarrassment; had he really been conned for all these _years_? He met Cas’ eyes but couldn’t hold his gaze for long. If shoving back from the table didn’t prove it, he didn’t want Cas to see how upset he was getting.

Sam startled at Dean’s outburst, and he frowned. “I was doing some research for…”

“Well, it’s none of your business!” Dean’s voice was cold. “You don’t even know John. He was doing his best for me, that’s all. Even if I am _just a sub._ ” He wanted Sam in his life. He liked it, having family, but not if they were going to treat him the same way that John did! “Big smart Dom, thinks I’m a stupid sub just like John!” Dean wheeled himself out of the room. He crashed into Sam’s chair as he did. Damn it! “Excuse me,” he gritted out. 

Sam heard the ‘fuck you’ in it as he watched his brother wheel away. He stood up to follow, but Mary put a hand on his wrist. “Sam, wait.” She looked over at Dean as he wheeled through the open doorway. His shoulders were hunched, but every inch of him radiated his annoyance. Her heart was breaking for her son. 

Bobby stood up at the same time Cas did. He met Cas’ gaze, “I’ve got this one, son.” Cas looked at him, narrowing his eyes before nodding. As much as he wanted to fix things for Dean, to protect him, that really wasn’t in either of their best interests. Cas headed to the sink to start washing the breakfast dishes; this was a family conflict, and no matter his relationship to Dean, he wasn’t really a part of that yet.

Bobby followed Dean out into the living room. “Dean.” He approached cautiously, not wanting to startle Dean. He took in the stiff line of Dean’s back, how tightly he held his shoulders. Every inch of him radiated ‘go away’. It was just the way John looked when he was mad, and Bobby couldn’t blame him. If Sammy was anything like his granddaddy, he didn’t know when to let things go.

Mary shook her head at Sam’s aghast face as he sunk slowly back into his seat. “You’re the one who keeps telling _me_ to settle down.” She patted his hand. “I understand that you just want to help. But you’re coming on a little heavy here.”

Sam looked over at his mother, “I don’t think he’s stupid.” She could hear the pain in her boy’s voice, see it in his eyes.

“I know, honey.”

He looked over at Dean and then back at his mother, “This isn’t about being a sub!” He took Jess’ hand, “how could I think that?” He let out a sigh, “What the hell did John do to him?” Sam groaned, “It’s just so hard. Mom, you didn’t see him when John showed up here. I’ve seen scared people before, you know, but I’ve never seen anyone look like that.” He shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “Just. If there’s one way I can help him cut ties, to move on, I’ll be happy.”

Mary looked through the opening and caught Bobby’s eye. He gave her a slight nod before turning back to Dean.

“Talk to me, boy,” Bobby sat across from Dean, “and it would be good if you could take a breath. I don’t think Sammy meant to imply…”

“I just don’t get why people can’t get the hell off his back,” Dean said tightly, without looking around. “I mean, fuck, Sammy doesn’t even know who I pay my rent to, and he’s already goin’ on about how ‘John lied’ and ‘you deserve better’, like he knows a damn thing about my life!” 

“Frustratin’, innit?” Bobby came around, perching on the edge of the couch. “You know, there’s a lot of folks who want the best for us, and it’s not always about what we think is best.” He shook his head. “Here’s what I know about John.” 

Dean was clenching and unclenching his hand on the arm of his chair. He waited for Dean to glance at him, at least once, to acknowledge that he was paying attention. Finally, Dean looked up at him, but quickly looked away. 

Bobby shook his head slightly, “He’s a single minded bastard. He knows how to get around a knife and a gun. He isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty.” He paused for a brief moment. “And he, genuinely, doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”

Dean sputtered, but fell silent when Bobby held his hand up again. “Hear me out. John, as long as I’ve known him, and that’s a damn sight longer than you, has been about himself. What he needed to kill whatever monster he was chasin’, no matter what else I was workin’ on. When it was most convenient for you to be stayin’ with me, or pullin’ you outta school in the middle of the year just because he heard about some new baddie somewhere.” He could see Dean amping up to protest, and shook his head. “Nope, just listen for a sec’. He’s not the kind of man who does things just to be nice.” 

Finally, Dean cut in. “You’re wrong. He helps people, Bobby. He helps them all over the country.” He ignored the twist in his gut that pointed out that they had travelled a little more frequently than was maybe strictly necessary. After all, it didn’t matter so much if he had to retake ninth grade English, as long as they stopped whatever was killing those senior citizens in Utah.

Bobby snorted. “Sure. For a price.” He shook his head. “He don’t do nothin’ out of the goodness of his heart. He gets paid for every deal he closes. And there ain’t many hunters what do it that way, either.” His eyes narrowed. “He’s a good hunter, he gets the job done, but he doesn’t really care about the collateral damage in the way.” 

“So? He’s gotta eat!” Dean continued clenching his good hand on the arm of the chair, his temper flaring again. “Yeah, I get it. John’s a douche. But that doesn’t mean that everything he does is some kind of crazy scam.” He shook his head. “He got me a house. Maybe I’m renting, maybe he took out a loan, I don’t know. I just… Damn it, I’m not an idiot! Just because I’m a _sub_ doesn’t mean I can’t figure stuff out on my own. Why the hell did he have to dig into my life?”

“I hear you,” Bobby said, nodding. “And I think Sam could have handled it better. But it might just be that he got a little overexcited.” He chuckled. “I don’t know him that well, but if he’s anything like your granddaddy, he doesn’t always think before he opens his flapper.” Bobby patted Dean’s hand. “Maybe… Maybe just hear him out, huh? I mean, it’s your money, and if you wanna keep sending it, you can, but if you don’t _need_ to, that might be good to know.”

Dean took a deep breath. It really _would_ help if he didn’t have to send money every month, especially while he was recuperating. “Yeah, maybe,” he agreed reluctantly. He shook his head. “It just...drives me nuts that no one seems to think I can take care of myself.”

“I understand. But maybe we should hear him out before we make any rash decisions. I don’t think anybody in there doesn’t think you can take care of yourself. I think, just maybe, it sounds like you don’t _have to_.” Dean let out a long pained sigh and gazed out the window as he thought about what Bobby told him about his father. Bobby looked back through the kitchen. Mary cocked her head mouthing, ‘is he okay’. He nodded toward Sam. Mary gave a small shrug and turned back to her younger son.

Sam clung to Jess’s hand as his thumb smoothed over the papers in front of him. “I really didn’t want to upset him,” he looked towards his brother before Jess pulled his hand off the papers and towards her.

“I know you didn’t.” She entwined her fingers with his, tugging his hand until he met her eyes. “He just... You just wanted to help him, but he couldn’t see it. It was a misunderstanding.” 

“Did you hear the way he called me ‘the smart Dom’,” Sam’s throat caught as he repeated the words with the same derision he’d heard in his brother’s voice. “I don’t think like that. I never have.”

She clasped her other hand around their joined ones, “And he still doesn’t know you that well, Sam.” Jess kept her voice soft, understanding. “Give him time to learn that.”

“Jess is right.” Mary moved the papers out of the way, “And, it’s very clear what John thought of subs.” She shook her head as her eyes glistened with tears. After a moment, she sucked in a deep breath, “We’re just going to have to help Dean learn that being a sub is not less, just different.”

Cas listened in on the trio at the table as he made quick work of the dishes. He wanted to join in with his own opinions on his Dean, but didn’t really feel he had the right. Yet.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Yes, Sam?” He shut the water off and plucked a towel from the rod to dry off.

“C’mere,” he waved his roommate over.

Cas dropped into the chair he’d vacated just a little while ago. He glanced through to the living room and saw Bobby talking with Dean. Dean seemed a little more relaxed than he had when he wheeled out, but his shoulders were still tense. He could only imaging the damaging thoughts going through his sub’s head. He looked a Sam and raised a brow in question.

“I really mucked this up, huh?”

Cas gave his roommate a small smile, glad for the opportunity to participate in the conversation. He tilted his head in thought and kept the sarcastic retort that sprang to his lips from getting out, “Let’s just say you could have handled that a little bit more discreetly.”

“I thought this would make him happy,” Sam hitched forward, “he owns this,” he hissed quietly as he waved his hand around.

“Agreed,” Cas nodded, “but,” he leaned toward his friend, “Dean does not have a good opinion of himself, and you know that, at least in part.” He sighed, “And how,” he glanced over his shoulder at his sub, “would you feel if you felt like you’d been duped by your father, the man who basically treats Dean like some sort of cross between a bank account and a library book?”

Mary frowned. “Cas has a point, Sam. This can’t be easy for Dean. After all, John has had him under his thumb for quite a while.” She shook her head. “And not only that, but Dean is constantly on high alert. Every time I’ve seen him, he’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop somehow.”

“Exactly.” Cas leaned back in his chair so he could see Dean more clearly. His sub looked more relaxed, less stressed. Good. Bobby at least hadn’t made things worse. “He might have responded a bit… Extravagantly, but he really has learned to expect the worst out of these situations.”

In the living room, Bobby reached out and patted Dean’s hand. “He might not have handled it right, but your brother does mean well.” He glanced at the kitchen door, where tempers seemed to have faded down a little. “Think we can head back there and at least hear him out?”

Dean took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Yeah. That’s probably what we should do,” he agreed. 

Bobby stood up, clapping Dean’s shoulder. “You wanna ride?”

“No, I’ve got it.” The last thing Dean wanted was to be pushed back in there like an invalid. “Hey, Bobby?” He met the older man’s gaze. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, son,” he said, patting Dean’s shoulder again before stepping out of the way so Dean could wheel toward the kitchen. 

Everyone was quiet as they made their way in, and Dean snorted. “Wow. I know I’m pretty, but I didn’t think I could shut down a room like that.”

Cas chuckled, squeezing Dean’s knee when he parked next to him. “You don’t give yourself enough credit,” he said, grateful that Dean’s shoulders had lost some of that awful tightness. 

Sam turned toward Dean, “Look, I’m sorry, man. I don’t think you’re stupid, this,” he tapped the papers with one finger, “has nothing to do with you being a sub. It’s about you getting swindled because you didn’t know any better at the time.” He shook his head “I promise. I don’t think of you as less, or weak. No one here does.”

“Yeah, well, the rest of the world does,” Dean huffed, “but that’s not the point.”

“No,” Sam agreed readily, “it’s not.” He shook his head slightly as if at himself. “I don’t think I explained the situation as well as I thought I did.” He hitched forward in his seat, “I had to do an assignment for one of my classes. Real Estate Law.”

Dean nodded. Sammy was usually talking about researching for some assignment or another, so that wasn’t new.

Sam shrugged slightly, “The assignment was to learn to read some of the common records you find on real estate ownership. I thought it would be better to pull info on places I knew, my apartment, the shop Jess works at, I even did Mal’s garage and I needed a private residence, so I pulled yours.”

Dean gave him another nod, his shoulders relaxing a little more. It was a lot easier to believe Sam wasn’t patronizing him now; actually, he felt a little stupid for jumping to that conclusion so quickly.

Sam pulled the paper to him, again. He held his brother’s gaze, “I couldn’t have been more surprised when I pulled the papers on this house and found them in your name.” He turned the top sheet to his brother, “You own the house, Dean.” Sam continued, and pointed at the paperwork again. Dean’s name was right there in black and white. “It really looks like it’s all in order. When I saw that, I just knew you needed to see it for yourself.”

Dean took the papers and started to read them. He cast his mind back to the night that he signed the papers to rent the house. They’d always been stacked up, all he’d really gotten to look at was the part where John wanted him to sign. He looked over to his mother and saw the soft smile on her face. He gave her a small smile back. “It’s really mine.” The part of him that had been so hurt by John’s lies was overwhelmed for a moment by the obvious _fact_ that the house was _his_

“This is a good thing for you,” Mary said as she reached across the table for his hand. His fingers were chilly under her touch, and she absently rubbed his fingertips with her thumb. “I guess the question, now is, where’s the money going that you’ve been paying, if it’s not for rent? We already know that John has a habit of not being entirely truthful to you.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed as he listened, embarrassment curling his belly again. After all, what kind of idiot didn’t at least read papers they were handed?

“Don’t beat yourself up, Dean,” Mary added as she imagined what might be going through her older son’s head. “Your dad,” she let out a soft sigh, “I can’t explain him.”

Another shot of anger ripped through Dean. He knew it wasn’t quite fair, but it felt ridiculous to be lectured by his little brother who had only known him a few months and a mother he barely knew. “Look, I know you’re all convinced that John is always looking to screw me over,” Dean said, his voice growing a little heated. “But hey, here’s a newsflash! He’s still my dad. I mean, I wouldn’t have the house at all if he hadn’t found it for me, and I wouldn’t have met you, or Cas, or Sammy…” He locked his gaze on the papers as the anger fizzled out. “He’s not a bad guy,” Dean said quietly. “I think, maybe, he was just trying to look out for me.” He sighed, “In his own way.”

“Dean, honey,” Mary came around and Cas moved to let her take his chair. She took Dean’s hand in hers, “No one’s asking you to disown your father. You’re an adult and can make your own decisions. John is a difficult man to quantify. He’s done many good things. But,” she ticked her head as Dean’s eyes glazed over, “he’s also done some truly terrible things and I hate that he’s done them to you!”

“It’s not, wasn’t like that!” Dean didn't know why he was protecting John; heaven knows that he spent years resenting the man and everything he stood for. But it still felt… Ungrateful to stand by and let other people bad talk him. “He always said that Grandma Winchester didn’t stand for subs getting uppity, or putting themselves in danger. He was trying to protect me, putting me here.”  
He really didn’t want to think about the feeling of betrayal coursing through his chest. It wasn’t John. It couldn’t be. The guy was a jerk, sure, but he only ever had to ask and Dean gave him money. So it couldn’t be him. No way.

“Well, Grandma Winchester was a mean old woman. She treated her dogs better than subs.” Mary let out a ragged breath remembering the old bat. There weren’t many people she was glad had passed, but Grandma Winchester was one of them. “Dean, honey, we just want to help,” Mary murmured, getting her own emotions under control. “And you deserve it. You are a good man, Dean Winchester. A good man, who just happens to be a sub.” She gave his hand a comforting squeeze. “Now,” she looked over at Sam, “What else do you know?”

Sam turned to face his brother, “What do you remember about the time that John asked you to sign these?” He pulled out a Contract of Sale.

"I remember that John said it was easier for my name to be on the rental. It surprised me that he’d do that since, it was odd that he’d let me, a sub, be on record for anything.” He scrubbed his hand over his chin, “He said it was better this way, since he's away so much. And I’d just pay the taxes instead of my rent for a couple months a year." 

“What’s the name of the guy you’ve been paying?” 

“Not a guy.” He shook his head. “I mean, I’ve been paying this corporation.” He took a deep breath. “My rent is due next week, so… I can look into it.” 

Mary and Bobby exchanged a look that wasn’t lost on Dean. Or Sam and Cas.

“What? Dean looked between the two, “What are you thinking?” He tried to keep his voice from sounding as angry as he felt.

Mary leaned toward her son, “What’s the name of the corporation?”

“It’s a guy’s name, but, it’s Alexander Davis Enterprises, Inc.”

“Damn it.” Bobby slapped his hand on the table, leaning back. He met Dean’s eyes when the younger man looked up. “I don’t know what the hell that man is up to. I thought he’d given up on using that name.” 

Cas frowned. “You recognize the name, I take it?” By Bobby’s reaction, he assumed that it was one of John’s names. 

“Yeah, I recognize it.” Bobby’s voice had taken on a viciously angry tone. “John used to use that as a front company when he had to pay for things, or when someone would pay him for a job. Once or twice he gave me money that way.” He shook his head. “I thought he’d given it up; a while back he quit paying me for supplies with that, and started to give me cash.” He gripped his coffee mug in one hand. “I bet that was right about when you got the house, Dean.” He swigged the last of his coffee in one swallow. “You’ve been payin’ John, Dean, I know it.”

Dean’s gut clenched. Since Sam had brought it up, he’d had his suspicions. But, well, there was knowing and _knowing_. “Goddamn it.” His voice was tight. “So he’s been playin’ me this whole time? I mean, it _was_ John I’ve been paying?” He took a deep breath, blew it out slowly. “”I don’t know why he didn’t just _ask_. If he needed me to slip him some money, I woulda given it to him! Hell, I’ve given him money plenty of times!” 

Cas glanced at him. “You give John money?” Of course, in retrospect that didn’t surprise him. Dean’s heart was bigger than his head sometimes. Still, there were so many things Dean had expressed a passing interest in that he never bought. Suddenly the explanation why he wouldn’t buy a car, or a pet, made so much more sense. 

Dean shook his head; this didn’t change anything. It was just new information. “Yeah, I mean, when he needs it. Whatever. It doesn’t matter; it’s just money. He’s doing good work.” His hands were practically shaking now with the effort not to clench them into fists again. “If I helped even one person by paying him that money, then it’s worth it!”

Mary frowned. “Dean,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “He might be doing some good work, that’s true.” She reached out again for Dean’s hand. “But he left you here, and _lied_ to you about it! You deserve better.” She knew that she was getting dangerously close to angry again, and took a moment to gather herself. “I say this not just as your mother, but as a decent person. You are more than John Winchester’s bank, and you did not deserve to be abandoned.” 

Dean shook his head. “It’s not like that! I’m here, I’m safe. Those people don’t have that. He just… Didn’t know better. That’s all. He was trying to protect me. Maybe he did it wrong, maybe it would have been better if he’d done it some other way, but he did it this way, and here we are.”

She leaned in closer, meeting Dean’s eyes squarely. “Dean, no matter how nice the house is, or who you’ve met, or what good work he’s done since he left you here. He abandoned you, and stole from you, in the name of other people. And you didn’t deserve that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a long day. Mary and Bobby meant well, and Dean loved them, but the morning had been a rollercoaster that he hadn’t expected. Dean and Cas were settled on the couch, Dean’s foot propped up on the arm and his head on Cas’ thigh. Buffy played quietly on the television, and Cas was gently carding his fingers through Dean’s hair. “Has your painkiller kicked in?” Dean had stubbornly refused his pills through the day when their visitors were there, confessing privately to Cas that he was feeling off kilter enough to not want the added laxity it gave his emotions. His dom hadn’t liked it, but he hadn’t pushed the issue.

“Yeah.” Dean let his head loll to the side, giving Cas a new area of scalp to scritch. “Feels better now. Thanks.” He sighed. “Damn. I didn’t think today was gonna be like this.” He sighed. With Cas, it was okay to be hurt, to think about how badly John’s words had wounded him. “D’ you think…” He trailed off, hesitant even now to give voice to that side of himself.

“Do I think what, Dean?” Cas’ voice was the soothing rumble Dean had come to associate with his dom when he was comfortably dommy. Not forceful, just, well, in charge.

“It’s stupid,” Dean said. He was careful not to imply that _he_ was stupid; Cas never appreciated that at all. Still, Cas very gently tugged on Dean’s hair, soothing the spot a moment later with his thumb. Dean got the point. “Do you think, now that I’m not paying John any more, that he’s gonna quit helping people?”

“Absolutely not.” Cas didn’t hesitate. He heard the vulnerability in Dean’s voice, and refused to let it take root. “He made do without your money for a very long time, I’m sure he’ll do the same now. John Winchester has made his bed and now he must lie in it. But Dean, that does not mean you are responsible for his choices.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Dean’s temple. 

“Yeah, but…” But it didn’t matter. They’d talked everything to death, it felt like, and Dean had finally agreed that John didn’t deserve any more of his money. Bobby had offered to mail the letter for him on the way back to his hotel, so Dean couldn’t get cold feet. 

“But nothing.” Cas shook his head. “What’s done is done, Dean, and we will deal with the fallout as it comes.” He brushed Dean’s hair back from his eyes and shifted a little to give Dean a more comfortable place to lie. “Now, hush. Relax. You’ve had a long day. Let’s just unwind a little before bed, hmm?”

Dean nodded. The anxiety still curled in his belly, a familiar discomfort, but it was easier to ignore with his dom’s warm fingers in his hair and Buffy on the television.

“We could call her Miss Kitty Fantastico,” Willow was saying, and Dean chuckled. 

“When I was a kid, I always wanted a cat, but no way could we get one. Moved too much, y’know?” Dean chuckled. “John mighta gone for a dog, actually, ‘cause they can be useful for hunts. But I never wanted that, either. Too scared they might get hurt.” He thought back to their discussion earlier in the day, and the memory of warm fur in his bed on chilly nights. “Still. Always thought it would be nice. A cat to cuddle with.”

Cas frowned slightly. “You have been living on your own for quite some time, Dean. You could certainly get one now.” He’d never had any pets growing up, but the idea was a pleasant one. Theoretically, at least.

Dean snorted, shaking his head. “That’s a waste of money. John would never approve,” he said automatically. He squirmed on the couch, the blanket dislodging itself from his lap and slithering to the floor. He made a low grumble of annoyance as he reached for it with his good hand, struggling to pull it back up.

“Easy, Dean, let me help,” Cas said, reaching across to untangle it. He tucked Dean back in and then linked their fingers together. “John is not someone you need to factor into financial decisions any longer, Dean. Remember?” He spoke neutrally, not wanting to get Dean upset again. “After all, you are an adult, with your own life.”  
Dean flushed slightly. “Right.” Taking care of John in one way or another had been the central pillar of his life for so long that the change hadn’t registered yet. John was no longer his concern. Supposedly, anyway. “Well… Cats are messy. And I’d probably be a terrible pet owner.”

Cas frowned more deeply. “As you have never owned a pet, I believe that declaring yourself a terrible pet owner is supposition.” He squeezed Dean’s hand gently, but his voice held the hint of steel that Dean loved. It made him feel cradled and safe. “Pretty, I would like you to write for me, by Monday… All the benefits of owning a cat, and how it might improve your life. At least seven reasons.”

It was Dean’s turn to frown, but he was getting more used to Angel’s interesting “consequences”. The shift from Dean to Pretty was surprising, but not unwelcome, given the day he’d had. The journalling was weird, but he was finding he almost _liked_ it. “Yes, Angel,” he replied dutifully. There was something freeing about knowing and trusting that his opinions wouldn’t be dismissed out of hand. His mind drifted, already thinking about what positives could come from owning a cat. Dean could hardly believe that he was almost _excited_ for something as silly as writing something down. Angel really wasn’t like any dom he knew. He turned his attention to their show again, smiling slightly.

Filling out a journal with reasons he wouldn’t be a terrible cat owner didn’t mean he’d get a cat immediately, but maybe Cas was right, and it wasn’t that bad an idea after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Extra credit, huh?” Dean frowned, pouting slightly. “On a Saturday?” Not that _his_ days differed much, but weekends with Cas were _his_. Yes, they still did things during the week, like the Buffy Marathon a week ago, but weekends were different. Less pressure, no bedtime. It sucked to lose a whole day, especially since Mary and Bobby both left the previous Sunday to go back to their real lives. Dean was surprised by how much he missed them even though they’d only been gone a week.

“Yes, I am sorry Dean,” Cas said apologetically as he pulled his coat on. “But it is part of my public speaking course.” He wrinkled his nose at that. Public speaking was _not_ his forte. Thus giving up his Saturday to try and peddle kittens and puppies to strangers in the hopes that the fifteen extra credit points would bolster his grade.

“Yeah, dude, that’s the weirdest public speaking assignment I’ve ever heard.” Dean shook his head. “I mean, a pet adoption fair? How does that even relate? I think your professor is high.”

Cas chuckled, shaking his head. “No… A little eccentric, perhaps. This shelter is one of Professor Shurley’s pet projects, I believe… No pun intended.” He laughed a little at his own joke, shrugging. “He says that talking to complete strangers will enable us to form coherent arguments and begin to be more persuasive.” Cas bent down to brush a kiss against Dean’s temple before glancing around to see where his backpack had landed. “I think he actually just wanted to be certain that the fair will be fully staffed. But fifteen points is fifteen points, and I _do_ need the help in this class.”

Dean sighed. “I know.” He smiled. “Well, have a good time. Pet a kitty for me… Or two.” Since he’d written out his list of reasons a cat wouldn’t be a terrible idea, he’d been thinking more and more about getting one. He hadn’t yet been brave enough to ask Cas and Sam to take him to the shelter, though. No way was he going to make a fool of himself trying to maneuver the halls there in his chair. He waggled his legs a little, gently. “If it wasn’t such a pain in the ass to get me out of the house, I’d come with you.” 

“I know you would, Dean. You have a good heart.” It really was a shame. In the last week, Dean had brought up cats no fewer than seven times. Cas was keeping track. He always prefaced it with ‘don’t think I’m ready for a cat, but…’ It was heartening, though. Cas was starting to learn that when Dean truly wanted something, he talked around it to death, without ever acknowledging that it was something he desired. 

Dean flushed. “Oh, shut up,” he said, shoving gently at Cas’ hip. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Cas was an unmitigated sap and he couldn’t contain his embarrassment at the praise. 

“Yes, you’re right,” Cas said regretfully. “I must be going. I’ll be home by two… And Sam is coming over, isn’t he?” None of them liked leaving Dean alone since he sent the notice to John’s PO box that he wasn’t paying the ‘rent’ anymore. They were all waiting for the other shoe to fall. Cas could hardly wait until he was out of the chair and more mobile. It would be a great deal less stressful, even if Dean couldn’t quite return to work. He knew Dean had to see what they were doing, how they were arranging things, but he hadn’t commented on it, for which Cas was grateful.

“Yeah, in like half an hour. He promised he’d bring brownies, and we’re gonna go over some stuff he found.” He still couldn’t believe that not only was his brother a hunter, he wanted _Dean_ to be one, too. “He thinks there’s a hunt in Redwood City, so we’re gonna do some research and see if we can figure it out.”

“Well, that sounds like it will be a most entertaining morning.” Cas tried to hide his frown. He didn’t like that _either_ Winchester was so invested in hunting, but he also knew it was very important to them, so he didn’t push it. “I will see you this afternoon… Should I bring pizza home?”

“Ooh, yeah, definitely! The meat lovers from… What’s that place… Marcos? On fifth, isn’t that where the event is?”

“It is,” Cas confirmed. He knew he was lingering; he didn’t want to leave Dean any more than Dean wanted him to go. But he finally sighed and bent for one last kiss. “I will bring home food for all of us then. Have a nice morning, Dean.”

Dean heaved a sigh, and waved. “Yeah, we will Cas. Drive safe.” 

Cas gave a little wave and then he was gone. Dean slumped back against the chair, pouting, until he heard the car pull in. Damn; Sammy was quick; he must have been talking to Cas about when he was planning to leave for the fair, ‘cause he was pretty early. Dean knew that no one liked to leave him alone, but really, it was ridiculous! _I’m a grown-ass man,_ he thought with a touch of annoyance. _It’s not like I can’t take care of myself!_

Sam appeared at the door a moment later. Dean watched him through the window, not bothering to roll closer to the door. He’d given Sam and Cas keys after he got home from the hospital. It was easier that way. Dean still couldn't believe how far he’d let down his guard. It felt strange to trust people; John would never have allowed it. His life with John had been secretive; friends were a rarity then too. Now, he had those too. But, even so, it felt odd to be able to open his home to so many. 

Something had changed when he’d broken his leg, though, and Cas and Sam had stepped up without question to fill needs he’d never anticipated. Neither had given him a reason to doubt the value of those keys, and Dean trusted they wouldn't go into his space without his permission. 

Sam had his backpack was slung over his back, carrying a tupperware of brownies. "Hey, Dean," he said, as he let himself in after only a moment on the porch fumbling one handed for his keys. 

"Hey, Sammy. Good to see you. Gimme." He held up his hands and made grabby fingers at the brownies, prompting Sam to chuckle, but pass the box over. Dean figured Sam deserved his pique, since they hadn’t even bothered to give him a half hour alone at home. "Tell me Jess made these, and your grubby fingers didn't have anything to do with it."

"Har har, Dean," Sam said, shaking his head. "Yes, Jess did make them. She even put in the chocolate chips and the marshmallows you like." He watched Dean pry the container open one handed, to see the gooey browned marshmallows topping the pan of brownies. "They're really good; her mom uses a recipe, not a box, and that's how Jess learned." 

Dean’s moan of pleasure interrupted Sam’s explanation. "Damn... That's amazing." Dean had already pried one of the gooey, oozing treats out and had a mouthful of chocolate. "They're so freakin' good... Tell her that I need the recipe. Like. Yesterday." He grinned up at his brother as he teased. Sometimes it felt strange to tease Sam; he was a dom, after all, and they’d really only known each other a few months. But something about Sam had always been different. From the very first time they’d met, they had a connection. He’d never been the kind to open up, but one lunch together and it was like they’d known each other their whole lives. 

Sam laughed as he watched, stepping forward to snag his own brownie. "Dean! Nasty!" He shook his head. "Yeah, okay. I'll tell her. That's super gross though, dude. Swallow!"

Dean leered at him, a look that was somewhat ruined by the brownie bits staining his teeth. "That's what Cas said last night." He couldn't believe he was joking about his time with a _dom_ in the bedroom, but it was _totally_ worth it to see the blush spread across Sam's face.

"Dean!" He was scandalized "TMI, dude, _serious_ TMI." He held up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm gonna go get us some milk, and then we're gonna get started on this for real." He didn't want to think any more than necessary about his brother and his roommate in the bedroom. He shoved the rest of his brownie into his mouth and then headed toward the kitchen, dropping his backpack by the coffee table as he walked past.

He grinned as he heard Dean laughing at him while he filled two tall glasses with milk. He returned to the living room to see Dean already poring over the folder that had been sticking out the top of the bag, flipping through the papers and skimming the information. Dean looked up and nodded at the folder when Sam walked in.

"So you're thinking it's, what, a ghost?"

"Yeah, it seems pretty straightforward haunting stuff. I mean, floating objects, broken glass, unusual noises... Hasn't been an issue except that every few years there's a death. It's not a high traffic area, but it _is_ a hotel. So there's that." Sam set the milk on the coffee table and settled down next to Dean on the couch.

"Huh. It's only every few years?" Dean was surprised. After all, there was no good reason for it not to fall on some kind of annual schedule, if it was about the ghost trying to relive their own demise. Heh. Relive. He frowned at the list of dates Sam had included. "Do you think it has to do with this... Fuck. Sammy, it's a leap year. Look. Every death has been in February, on leap day." 

"What?" Sam couldn't believe he'd missed something so obvious. "Well, shit. How the hell did I miss that?" He shook his head as he looked down at the list where Dean was pointing. "That's... A starting point. Do the deaths all occur in the same room?"

"No, they're spread across the hotel." The young hunter frowned at the paper. "It's weird, actually, that it's not just in one room. You'd expect the haunting to focus on one room, but it doesn't. It's more like... More like they're trying to show something about the hotel itself." He shook his head. "Look, the first one was in room 203, the next one was in the pool house, but the one after that was the lobby. The _lobby_? How the hell does a ghost kill someone in the lobby?"

"Well, the coroner deemed it to be a heart attack," Sam said after a moment of flipping to get to the set of papers about the third death. "There were no cameras then, but there were some bystanders. They said he started babbling something, getting really sweaty, and then just collapsed. I think that he was seeing something, or some _one_." He looked up at Dean. "Can you believe that there was something there? I almost overlooked that death, except that it was in the same hotel as the rest."

Dean reached out a hand for the paper from Sam. "Yeah, that’s an unusual thing, but I think that it makes sense. The other people are all more obvious ghost deaths. This one is kind of an outlier. But I don't think that means it wasn't the ghost. It fits the pattern."

"Yeah, it does." Sam shifted next to Dean and reached for the papers. "Okay. Well, I haven't been able to figure out who might be the ghost, though." He frowned. "Maybe it could be a guest there? We should start with the guest lists, if we can get those."

Sam wrinkled his nose. "Those’ll probably take me awhile to get," he said, shifting sideways on the couch to give Dean a little more room. "I mean, these deaths go back like, forty years. I don't think they probably even exist anymore."

"Yeah, probably not... But maybe. I mean, they might have check-in books or something. We can ask." Dean grabbed another brownie. "So," he said around the mouthful. "We have... What? A couple of deaths, a haunted hotel... We need to figure out where the victims have something in common. I mean, that's the link right?"

"Yeah, it is,” Sam agreed, pulling out the list of victims. They were male and female, young and old... It didn't appear on first glance they had anything in common. "Nothing major jumping out at me... But..." He frowned. "Actually. These two both have kids. And so does this one..." He began to flip through the papers, reading carefully. "They look like they are all parents. But more than that... Look at this, Dean."

He passed a paper across to Dean, and pointed at a paragraph. "It looks like he was getting a divorce. He had three kids at home, and was leaving them alone to be with their mother." He began to flip through the rest of the papers. "Her too. She was giving her kids up for adoption..." 

Dean took a stack of papers and glanced at them. "Yeah... This one, too. Looks like all of them were either in a divorce, or recently divorced... Or in some other kind of situation where they were giving up their kids." He looked at Sam, his stomach twisting. "Looks like they were all doms, too. Like, this one was... This lady was a switch, but her husband was a sub... Every one of them was giving up their kids and abandoning their sub, I would bank on that." The excitement of being right was fading as he realized the connection. Kinda more personal than expected, actually.

"Fuck." Sam frowned. "Okay. So, I would guess that the ghost, then, is a sub who was abandoned. I mean, that would make the most sense, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah, it would. And probably murdered... Maybe they went to the hotel to confront their dom about leaving, and they ended up dead?" He couldn't imagine that it would make much difference _why_ it happened, but sometimes he liked to know he had solved the puzzle. And, really, sometimes it _did_ make a difference in defeating a ghost, if their body wasn’t immediately available to salt and burn. 

"Yeah. That makes a lot of sense, Dean. Okay. So, now, I know I'm looking for murders in a leap year... Of a sub, with kids, whose dom was leaving them. Murdered at least four years prior to the first death.” He shook his head. “Couldn’t be something nice and obvious, like a robbery?” He muttered to himself as he jotted down his notes in the notebook. "I wish you could come to the library with me. Those damn microfilms are so boring by myself. It’d go twice as fast with a second person." 

"Do you think that you’ll go soon?" Dean glanced up. “I mean, the next death won’t be until February, dude.”

Sam shrugged at the question. "Well, it’ll depend on my schedule. You’re right, I'm not even sure I can _get_ the ghost until February. A leap year and everything.” He took a swig of his milk. I don't know. I'd like to salt and burn the bones, but what if there's some reason that won't work?"

"Like what? I thought burning the bones always worked?" Dean hadn't seen any instances where burning bones _didn't_ work, though there were always rumours. 

"Yeah, I thought so too, but when I was about fourteen, mom and I did this ghost. They were tied to a hairbrush that was in this museum. It was ridiculous. We had to break in and everything. Mom didn't even want to take me with her, but I didn't want to let her go alone.” Sam picked up a third brownie, taking a big bite and chewing it before he continued. “So yeah. We salted and burned the bones, but the ghost came back the next day. Wasn't until we burned the actual brush that we took care of the thing."

"Huh. That's... Really cool, actually." Dean hadn't heard of that, but he hadn't really done much research on ghosts. Usually, John needed him for more of the unusual cases. "Hey, can you hand me that?" He nodded to a thick leather bound journal at the end of the couch. "I write things down that I need to remember, and it's really helpful to have it all in one place."

Sam nodded, passing the journal over to Dean and fishing in a cup for a pen. "There you go. Okay so that means that we need to figure out who it was, what they might be tied to... I really hope that they were found and buried in an actual cemetery. If they were buried in the hotel somewhere that would be awful." He wrinkled his nose at the thought of needing to break down a wall somewhere to get to the bones to burn.

"Yeah, that would be," Dean answered absently. He was surprised by how easily Sam and he had come to their conclusion, but he was glad they were done. "Right... So. I guess that's all you need for now... Do you wanna watch a movie or something? I mean, until you make it to the library, that's all you need to do. Right?"

"Oh, sure!" Sam finished writing the notes about Dean's ideas, and then looked at his brother. "What do you want to watch?"

Since Cas had started to spend time with Dean, his movies had migrated from his bedroom out to the television. "Oh, I don't care. I mean, whatever." Dean waved a hand. "There's really nothing over there that I don't like. I just kinda want to watch something."

Sam nodded, smiling and straightening. "Well, that's doable, then... I can pick something." He knelt by the stack of movies, surprised by the number of westerns. "Huh. I wouldn't have pegged you to be a westerns fan, Dean," he said absently, still looking over the options. "How about No Country for Old Men?" He looked over to Dean, holding the case up questioningly. 

"Oh, yeah. I haven't watched that one in a while. Sure thing, Sam. Put it in." Dean nodded, and Sam popped the case open. While Sam got the movie going, Dean transferred onto the couch, settling his legs onto the coffee table to support them. Sam slid the disk into the dvd player, and then went to sit with Dean. They were settled on the couch comfortably only a moment later, the movie starting and the case forgotten.

The credits were just rolling when Dean heard tires on the gravel. "Oh, that's Cas. He's bringing pizza, wanna stick around for lunch?"

"Ooh, from Marcos?" Sam grinned. "You had me at pizza." He stood up, heading to the door as they heard Cas' footsteps on the stairs.

"Hey, Cas... Dean said you got lunch..." He trailed off, and Dean frowned. That was unusual. He turned, and saw that Cas didn't have a pizza box in hand.

"Hey, babe... I thought you were bringing pizza?" He looked up at his boyfriend, confusion on his face. Cas advanced on the couch, and Dean frowned further when he saw how closely he was holding his arm to his chest. "Shit. Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Fear skyrocketed in his chest, and Cas hurriedly shook his head. 

"No, no, Dean, I am fine. I am sorry to startle you." He shook his head at his boyfriend and smiled. "I promise. I... Do have pizza. It's in the car. But there was something more important to bring in first."

At that moment there was a small 'mewl' from the middle of Cas' coat somewhere, and then a little head emerged between the buttons. Dean blinked. "A cat? Cas... You have a _cat_?" The little body wriggled out, and Dean's frown deepened. It was the hairiest cat he had ever seen, the fur thick and curled everywhere, as though someone had stuck the kitten's toe in a light socket.

"What the hell kind of cat is _that_ , Cas, and why is it in my house?" His tone was gruff, but he had to admit that the kitten had a sort of charm to it. Like... So ugly it was cute. That was a thing, right? Like pugs and shit. 

"Dean," Cas said, a small pout in his voice. "Her name is Smokey, or so said her paperwork at the shelter." He shook his head. "She is a runt, and has a few health issues, her handler said. She needs a little bit of help, because she is still on medications..." 

Dean felt his heart soften a little bit. Still, he shook his head. "Cas, you were supposed to be adopting the cats to _other_ people, not bringing them home yourself," he said, though most of the heat had left his words. Cas stepped even closer and offered the little kitten to Dean. "I've never seen a kitten like her."

The kitten was very soft, springy hair, curled all over her body almost like a sheep’s wool. Dean had to smile as she immediately started to purr and settled in his lap. He stroked her fuzz gently, marvelling at the warm bundle on his chest.

"She is a new breed," Cas explained. “They have not been finalized by the CFA yet, according to the shelter... She is called a Selkirk Rex. She and her litter ended up in the shelter because their owner owned a breeding pair. The owner had a heart attack and passed away; their children didn't want the hassle of attempting to maintain his efforts with the breed, so they gave them to the shelter. The rest of them were adopted today, because they are so unique, but this little girl, because of her health issues, was not."

Dean couldn't imagine anyone letting the little kitten stay in the shelter any longer than necessary. She was purring and cuddled up on his lap and he couldn't get over petting her. "She can't stay here, Cas... I don't have any cat stuff."

Cas chuckled. "I... May have purchased what you need. I figured that because one of us at least is home all the time, she would be a good fit for us. For you."

Dean looked up sharply. "For me?"

"Yes, Pretty." Cas' smile grew soft, and Dean swallowed. "She is yours to keep. I thought she needed you. I know you will do an admirable job helping nurse her back to health." He knew it was a gamble; Dean had not yet agreed that he wanted to get a cat. But worst come to worst, he knew Sam and Jess wouldn’t mind a cat at their house.

As though to punctuate his point, the little kitten sneezed, and then meowed loudly up at Dean. His heart melted. "For me,” he said again, stroking her hair. This time his voice was smitten, and Cas relaxed a fraction. She started to purr, a low rumble that was surprising in one so small. "Smokey is a stupid name," he said, even though the little kitten _was_ black. He looked her over and smiled again. "JJ."

"JJ?" Cas sounded intrigued, and Dean grinned up at him.

"Joan Jett. I can already tell this little girl is gonna be a rock star."

"Joan Jett," Cas said, smiling. "I like it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please don't give animals as pets by surprise! It's really not a good idea. It's okay in this situation only because Cas was totally planning on keeping her if Dean didn't want her. But in general, it's not a good idea to surprise people with 15-20 year commitments. But if you ARE looking for a pet, please adopt, don't shop, and get your pets fixed!
> 
> For those wondering, JJ looks like this, but blacker. http://www.catbreedslist.com/uploads/allimg/cat-pictures/Selkirk-Rex-3.jpg
> 
> Image from catbreedslist.com


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I definitely didn't want to make you guys wait eight months for this. I'm really sorry. Do know that I'm here and I do appreciate all the comments and encouragement!
> 
> Thanks as always to Lisa for the beta, and for my 'Rotica friends helpful tips too! I hope you all enjoy this section!
> 
> <3,
> 
> Dare

Dean settled down with a groan on the couch. Everything was harder since he’d started walking around with the walker, even though he logically knew it was a step in the right direction. The doctor had assured him that his left leg was healing correctly, and even though it was uncomfortable to put weight through it, it was perfectly safe. The right leg still had two weeks before he could begin to use it, but he was counting himself lucky he could get in and out of the house again. He’d gone stir crazy being trapped inside all the time. It was a blessing, getting to at least go out to lunch, and to his physical therapy appointments.

A skittering sound on the floor had him turning in surprise. He relaxed when he realized it was just JJ and her toy of the day, a sparkplug he’d dropped while working on a project for Mal. She’d promptly pounced on it, and there was no way Dean was getting it back. He’d just resigned himself to leaving it on the floor until Cas got home to pick it up. “You know,” he said conversationally to her. “It’s rude to scare a guy like that.”

She, conveniently enough, ignored him and continued to smack the metal piece across the floor. Dean chuckled and propped his right foot up on the coffee table. He eyed the gun sitting there, waiting to be cleaned. He knew he ought to, that it was just good to keep in practice, but reaching for the gun to take it apart just… felt wrong. He’d learned over the years not to ignore his gut in situations like this. The gun stayed on the coffee table. 

As JJ continued to bat around the spark plug, the sound of an engine roaring up the drive caught Dean’s attention. He glanced down at his phone; it was still an hour before Cas was supposed to be home. JJ looked up curiously as the engine died and a car door slammed a minute later. Dean reached for the gun, because he knew there was no time to get to a more defensible position, not if who he thought was coming was really stomping up the steps. 

Dean kept his eyes on the door as it was nearly ripped off it’s hinge, John striding through as if he owned the place. Dean kept his place on the sofa. His gun stayed in a loose grip on his lap but, at this point, he wasn’t about to hesitate to use it. As the door banged open, JJ’s head flew up and she took a few skittering steps until she’d scaled the couch and burrowed in against Dean’s lap. Dean automatically lifted her up and tucked her into his flannel, ignoring the way her little claws dug into his shoulder. He’d deal with that later.

“Boy, what the hell are you doing laying around?” John glared as he stomped into the living room. Dean’s heart was pounding, though he wasn’t sure if fear or anger was sending his blood pressure skyrocketing. “And what the hell do you think you’re doing, not paying your damn rent for two months! I raised you better than that!” John advanced on Dean where he sat on the couch, halting with a growl when Dean pointed the revolver at him. 

Dean huffed out a bitter laugh. “Well, ‘hello’ to you, too, John.” He shifted, getting his right foot on the ground. He didn’t like the idea of having to put pressure on it, but if the choice was run or, well, whatever John might think up as a suitable punishment? He’d run. “Raise me, you didn’t raise me! I raised myself! Especially after I Presented!” His rabbiting heart cemented itself. Anger, then. God, it felt good. 

John shrugged, shaking his head at Dean’s voice. “Well I always knew something was a little off about you.” He chuckled; the sound of it made Dean’s blood run colder. “Even when you were little, you were always a bit too quick to jump to whenever you were told to do something.”

“So it’s my _fault_ I ended up a sub?” Dean took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing. “And anyway, it’s not like you _ever gave a shit._ You were too busy off savin’ the world.” He waved the gun toward the door, aiming steadily again when John made to take a step forward. “Back off, old man.”

“Hey, you watch your tone, boy! I’m still your father.” John waved one hand out at his car in the lot. “You act like you lived such a hard life, but I’m the one out there risking my life keeping us safe!”

Dean snorted, “Safe?” He snorted again, “From who? Not from anyone who ever went after me. Not from you! And your work, yeah, okay, I get it. It’s important.” Dean hated that he agreed. He hated that it _was_ a good reason to help take care of John. He’d always wanted to be a hero. “Hell, I’m a hunter too! Or at least, I used to be, before you decided subs weren’t good enough to save the world. But then, it’s not like you ever had any ideas what to do with a son who was also a sub.” He spat the word, just like John always had when they were in private.

John shook his head. “Does your dom let you talk to him like that?” He laughed meanly at the memory of Cas. “You know, I did _not_ bring up a boy who was this disrespectful to his father. I fed you, I clothed you, you had a roof over your head at night! And this is how you repay me? Waving a gun in my face?”

“Leave Cas out of this,” Dean growled, tightening his hand on the arm of the couch. “You know, I used to think it was somethin’ special, what you did. But parents are _supposed_ to feed their kids! They’re supposed to clothe them. Hell, it’s not my fault I was born! Don’t blame me because you knocked mom up! If you didn’t want to have a kid, you shoulda thought of that a couple’a decades ago.” 

It was laughable that John was still trying to claim fatherhood as some big, noble thing he’d done. Dean fought the urge to laugh. “And as far as being your kid goes, I don’t owe you _shit._ I break my back every day tryin’ to take care of myself. Hell, you know how old I was when I got my first job? _Twelve._ I was twelve, and cleaning some pretty damn skeevy rooms in some hotel that I’d call the cops on me for if I saw a kid at. And I never had a problem covering for you, too.” 

“You? _You_ covered for _me_?” John laughed again. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me, boy.”

“You know I did! I sent you money whenever you asked! I work _two_ jobs, just to make sure I could pay all my bills and still afford to send you what you needed.” The bar was a big change from the garage, but the tips sometimes made up the difference between eating and not. “Hell, sometimes I sent you money just because I thought you could use it! And I didn’t use if for myself,” he huffed, “I didn’t use my own money for myself just so I could have it for you! I’ve been a fuckin’ idiot.” Dean shook his head and locked his gaze on his father, “But that doesn’t change the fact that you _lied_ to me, that I’ve been living here in my _own damn house_ and paying you for the privilege! 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about! Hell, I’d be surprised if it’s even you payin’ the rent on this place. I’ve seen your pretty little rich boy dom.” He laughed. “You know, ever since I found you fucked the whole basketball team in Texas, right after you Presented, I knew you’d bend over for any dom that asked. Looks like I’m not wrong.”

Dean’s gut clenched at the memory of Kale and the team. He couldn’t believe John would throw that in his face. “You sonovabitch! I was barely fifteen!” Dean shouted back. “I wouldn’t choose that, and you know it!” He shook his head, fighting the urge to get on his feet and physically shove John out the door.

“You’ve always been a slut, Dean… Yeah, I let you sleep around, I figured with that many doms they might be able to keep you out of trouble. They kind of succeeded.” He tutted teasingly, ignoring Dean’s glare. “But now you’re just lazy, and stupid enough not to pay your rent for two months!”

“ _Let me_ sleep around? Oh, that’s rich! And now, I’m stupid?” Dean smirked in derision, which was better than shooting the smug bastard. Barely. “I fuckin’ work two, two jobs! I’m not the lazy one! And don’t even try to tell me that I don’t own this house. I know the truth! And if you’d have wanted me to know I owned it, you’d have told me. The fact that you betrayed me is enough to make it time to tell you to fuck off. You’re a big boy, John, you can make your own way, just like I have!”

“Now, you wait just a minute here, boy! You don’t tell me what-”

“No, John,” Dean cut him off, “I’m not telling you what to do, I’m telling what I’m _not_ doing for you anymore.” Dean ticked the gun toward the door again, “I’ve done everything you asked, my entire _goddamn life._ Hell, I don’t even have a _car_ , because _you_ said it would be too expensive! I’m a _mechanic_ who doesn’t even know how to drive! Do you know how _ridiculous_ that is?” This time Dean did laugh, a slightly hysterical sound that was halfway a sob. “D’you have any idea how many times I’ve had to make excuses for your sorry ass when Mal or one of the guys from the shop have offered to teach me?” Dean took a deep breath, pulling himself back under control. John was not a man who was wise to show weakness to. “No thank you. My life is my life, and I’m taking it back. You’d better stay the hell out of it.” Dean kept the gun on John and pointed to the door with his free hand, “You leave _me_ alone, you leave my dom alone, you leave my cat alone, just get the fuck out. Maybe one day, if you’re willing to be civil, and respect me and my life, _maybe_ we can talk again. Until then? Get the _hell_ out of my house.”

John stared at him for a moment longer before narrowing his eyes and nodding. “Right. I can see you won’t listen to reason. Fine.” He took one step back. “This won’t be the end of this, boy, mark my words.” He took another step back as Dean cocked the gun. “Good luck keeping your little rich boy dom satisfied,” he spat hatefully. “But don’t be surprised when he’s tired of sloppy seconds.”

Dean surged to his feet at that, fighting back a cry of pain as he inadvertently put weight on both legs. John took the hint, though, and a few moments later the door slammed behind him and the engine of his car heralded his roar out of the drive.

Dean shifted all his weight to his left leg, the right leg throbbing angrily. He didn’t sit until he was certain John’s car was gone. Then Dean sat with a plop, gasping out a breath. He fought the urge to text Cas; this wasn’t something worth bothering him for, not when he’d be home in less than an hour. The asshole was gone, that was good enough.

Gingerly he shifted into the couch more deeply, propping his right leg up. It didn’t feel like anything had shifted, so he felt fairly safe in waiting to deal with it for later. In the meantime, he drew JJ from inside his shirt and began to stroke her as she mewled unhappily.

“I know, baby girl,” he said, her springy fur under his fingertips soothing him immeasurably. She tucked herself under his chin and began to purr, and Dean did his best not to push too hard as he snuggled her close.

By the time the door opened, the throbbing in Dean’s leg had subsided but his anger hadn’t. His eyes flew open and he shifted, despite JJ’s protesting mewl. He sat up, though he left his leg on the couch, and reached instinctively for the gun.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said, and then froze as he walked into the room. “Is… Is there a reason you have the revolver pointed at the door?” He tried to keep his voice steady, even as he held his hands up and backed a step away from Dean. “Did something happen when I was at class?”

As soon as it registered who was in the room, Dean lowered the gun. “Geeze, Cas, sorry… I guess I’m a little wound up.” He scooted up a little more, hissing as his right leg hit the floor, though much more gently than earlier in the day. “Had a little… visitor while you were gone.”

“A visitor?” Cas’s concern shifted away from the gun Dean was setting on the coffee table, safety engaged, and to his boyfriend’s face. “Am I to guess that it was John?”

Dean chuckled weakly. “Got it in one, Cas,” he said, stretching and frowning. “Not how I wanted to spend my afternoon, let me tell you.”

“I imagine not,” Cas agreed mildly, still trying to gauge Dean’s reaction. “As usual, I assume he didn’t have the courtesy to call first?”

Dean snorted. "Call? Yeah, right. I'm sitting here, minding my own business, when all of a sudden John just comes storming in here like he owns the place!" He wanted to get up and pace, and his hand began to tap agitatedly on his knee. 

Cas took a sharp breath, but didn't interrupt. Dean was tetchy about telling stories, sometimes, and he didn't want to run the risk of Dean deciding that his story wasn't important, or some such nonsense.

Dean wasn't even looking at Cas, mostly just tapping his fingers and shaking his head. "So he's here and he's all up in my face, telling me that I owe it to him to keep paying on the house and some shit. I told him to back the fuck off, that he had no right... And then he tried to drag you into it!" He looked up, and his pupils were blown wide in distress. "I told him to back the fuck out of my house, that he had no right to talk about you, or my choices after he basically dropped me off in California and split!"

Cas nodded, taking a tentative step toward Dean. "You're very right," he said. He forced himself to keep his calm. Dean didn't need him adding to his agitation, even if he was spitting mad that John had dared to show up here, on one of the first days they'd felt safe to not have someone with Dean. He was also glowingly proud that Dean had been able to handle it himself, though he didn’t think Dean would appreciate the sentiment at the moment. "When did he leave?"

"Uh, a few hours ago," Dean said, and sat up completely with a wince. "Damn. My stupid leg..." he hissed. "I might have maybe had to stand up to get him out of here." 

Cas gasped. "Oh, Dean! And you put weight on your leg?" 

"Yeah, yeah, but I mean, I think I'm okay. I didn't feel anything snap or anything. It just hurts." Cas sat down on the couch beside him, reaching for Dean's arm.

"Do you think we need to go get you looked at?" Cas's worry didn't disappear just because Dean was feeling fine, but at the same time, he didn’t think it was immediately necessary to take Dean to the doctor. He was cleared to weight bear on his good leg, after all, so it might not be so bad to have put a little weight on the bad one. They were only a few weeks away from the follow up to see if he could begin walking normally anyway.

"No, no, I'm good," Dean, said, shaking his head. "John's just a stuck up ass, that's all. God. I can't even believe he came here! And he's all talking shit like somehow he's God's gift to subs or something." He pulled a face. "Goddamn asshole can't even talk to a sub without going off about how they need protected and shit."

Cas snorted softly. "Well, from what I have seen, rational thought does not seem to be John Winchester's strong point." He grinned. "It's a good thing that seems to have skipped a generation." 

Dean laughed and shoved Cas' shoulder. "Now c'mon Cas... You know you don't need to sweet talk me. I'm a sure thing." The tension was broken, a little, but Dean shifted again, this time pressing closer. "Damn. I just... I almost shot him, you know?" He swallowed. The anxiety of the day, and the fact that he'd been stewing in it for a few hours on his own were definitely catching up to him. "I mean, he was here, and I was just... Pointing a gun at him. At my own father." He looked up at Cas with wide eyes. "What kind of a monster am I, that I almost shot my own father?"

"Hey, now, none of that." Cas' voice was sharp, though not angry. He wrapped his arm more tightly around Dean. "You are no kind of a monster, Dean. You were protecting yourself and your home from a man who openly sought to cause you harm. There is no shame in that.” He pressed a kiss to Dean’s head, not sure how much more affection Dean would take right then. He counted it a victory when Dean didn’t stiffen and pull away.

“You are smart enough to know that John is trying to manipulate you. Again.” His hands began to wander, rubbing up and down Dean’s shoulders. His sub was so tense, Cas wished he could wave a magic wand and make it better. “I know he thinks that just because he is a dom he has some sort of rights over you, but he doesn’t. He himself taught you to fire a gun, remember? Fathers are not infallible, even if they fancy that they are." Cas swallowed. It was hard, sometimes, to not try and fix everything for Dean. His sub had so many trigger points, so many landmines that Cas didn't even know where to step most of the time.

"Easy for you to say," Dean said bitterly. "Your dad's just a jerk. Mine straight up threatened to shoot you."

Cas huffed out a laugh. "Yes, well, that may be a valid point, but Dean... Just because you had to protect yourself does not mean you are a monster. You are a strong, brave, intelligent man who has come to realize that many parts of your life were not what you were hoping for." He shrugged a little bit and kissed Dean's temple. "That just makes you human, Dean. Sorry to disappoint."

That time Dean did laugh, and he turned toward Cas "Well, that's a fair enough point." He leaned up and this time he pressed a kiss to Cas' lips. "Thanks for reminding me." He kissed him again, the anxiety in the pit of his stomach changing to a different kind of need. "Mm... You know, I think I _was_ pretty brave today..." He didn't know where the boldness was coming from but he felt the words keep bubbling up and he didn't try very hard to stop them. "I think I deserve a reward." He flushed at the sentiment but didn’t take it back. He felt like pushing.

Cas' eyebrows lifted but he didn't voice his surprise. Dean so rarely asked for things, he certainly wasn’t going to tell him ‘no’. "You know, I think you're right." He ran his hand down Dean's side, then slid his fingers under his tee shirt. "Were you thinking of something in particular?"

"Mm... Well..." Dean leaned in for another kiss. "Maybe we could have pie for dessert?"

Cas was startled into a laugh at that, and then pushed Dean back, pinning him against the couch. "You know, I think that we can do that," he said with a grin. "But I was thinking something a little more... Immediate, perhaps?" He kissed Dean again, more deeply. "After all, there's nothing to say rewards can't be... thorough."

Dean moaned as Cas continued to slide his hands up his chest. "You know, Angel," he mumbled. "I like the way you think."

Dean groaned and Cas carefully began to ease his boyfriend's shirt off, first pushing back the flannel and then pausing only long enough to push the tee shirt over Dean’s head. "Mm... Pretty..." He began to nip down his sub's throat, taking advantage of the way he tipped his head back to allow the other man access. "I'm so proud of you. You were so brave and strong today, you did so well." 

Pretty gasped, open mouthed, as Angel pulled his shirt all the way aside and tossed it across the room to be dealt with later. Normally, he would protest, disagree with his dom's assessment, but today he really couldn't be bothered. "Yeah?" He said, instead, moaning again as his dom's mouth began to move down his chest. He nipped and kissed as he went, and Pretty clenched his free hand in the couch cushions. The praise glowed in his chest, warming him from the inside out.

"Oh, yes, you did very well." Angel grinned, predatory and yet not dangerously. No, the heat in his eyes burned only for Pretty's pleasure and he knew that the only way the other man was going to leave off was after he got exactly what he wanted. Pretty shivered in anticipation. "And good boys deserve a reward."

Angel shifted again, this time sliding all the way down off the couch. He left himself in the vee of Pretty's legs, careful not to bump his still injured foot. "Pretty, what's your color?" 

His sub, eyes blown wide with pleasure, blinked. He hadn't ever been asked that question when he felt like this before. "Green," he managed, after a moment. "Green. I'm good."

Those fingers slid up the inside of his thighs, a teasing touch that had Pretty squirming. "I will be checking in," Angel said softly, even as he continued to stroke and tease. Pretty moaned, and Angel grinned as he felt Pretty hardening under his fingers. "Don't you feel good?"

Pretty nodded. "Yes, Angel. Feels good." He bit his lip. This wasn't even anything serious! He'd done so much more with so many others, but this? Somehow it felt different. More intimate.

Angel popped the button in his jeans and slowly drew down the zipper. Pretty moaned as he slid a hand inside and gripped his hardening length. His fingers felt hot, burning hot, and he arched into the touch. "Ah-Angel," he gasped. 

The dom grinned wickedly, giving the cock in his hand a firm stroke. The tone of his voice dropped precipitously, to the low, gravelly rumble that always made Pretty's stomach flip. "You want this, Pretty, don't you?" He leaned in, the change in angle giving him the chance to pull Pretty's cock out of his boxers entirely. "Do you want me to suck you?"

Pretty arched up a little bit, moaning softly. "Y-you don't have to," he finally said, after a moment. He was a little ashamed at how soft his voice was, how needy. It was wrong. Doms don't suck their subs, that's not how it worked! But Angel only gave his cock a gentle squeeze and another long stroke. 

"Now, now, Pretty, you know..." He shook his head. "That's not what I asked."

The rebuke worked, because Pretty was certain no dom had ever _tried_ to suck him before, either. He couldn't help himself, and his legs dropped open further. "Y-yes. Please, Angel..."

"Shh... You don't need to beg." Angel grinned. "My good boy deserves a reward... And I want to do this for you." He leaned in and kissed the tip, relishing in the way that Pretty squirmed under the attention. To be honest, it was more thrilling than he'd expected, seeing his beautiful boy relaxing under his attentions. "You deserve the very best."

Hot, wet. The sensations weren't something Pretty had experienced in a long time. He hadn't been with another sub in quite a while and doms _definitely_ didn't go down on subs. He arched up despite himself, groaning when Angel pinned his hips to the couch. 

Angel knew this wasn't his strong suit. He hadn't been with another man in much longer than he'd care to admit. Art school notwithstanding, relationships really hadn't been on his radar much. But he was determined to give Pretty a good reward, something he'd remember. He began to suck and lick his way down the hard length, his fingers caressing what couldn't fit in his mouth. His ears tuned to his Pretty as tightly as anything else. He wanted to know his boy, what felt good, what didn't. What would make him squirm. 

The angle wasn't perfect. His hands really didn't have much space to explore, though the one not otherwise occupied did take a chance and slide up his leg to tease at the crease of his thigh. Pretty responded beautifully, opening his legs and giving his dom access to whatever he could reach.

"Angel," he gasped, biting his lip. Angel glanced up at him, blue eyes assessing hungrily as he watched his boy drop his head back and squirm against the couch. "Please. God..." Angel pulled back with a pop.

"My good boy," he murmured, blowing across the tip. Pretty's cock twitched in his hand and his sub groaned at the sensation. "Do you like your reward?"

"Yes, yeah... Just... God, please..." Pretty bit his lip, and groaned again when Angel closed his mouth over his cock again. The heat in sharp contrast to the cool air of the living room made him squirm harder, and Angel took note. He pulled off again, licking a stripe up the cock in his hand and blowing cool air over it a moment later. Pretty's hands were gripping the couch cushions for dear life.

"That's... Angel, please, please..." Pretty had ceased even trying to be coherent, and Angel grinned as he dropped his head down again. He swallowed his lover down as far as he could go, listening intently for the sounds of his pleasure changing. He didn't want to make him suffer, this wasn't a session to see how far he could go. This was a reward, and so he drove Pretty ever forward toward crescendo. 

"Angel, God, I'm gonna... Angel, I'm gonna come," Pretty warned him breathlessly. His hips were squirming harder now, and Angel pushed him down a little more so he wouldn't choke. He listened to Pretty's gasping moans until suddenly, he was arching once and coming. The salty-bitter fluid didn't quite catch him by surprise, but Angel still wrinkled his nose. He pulled off and reached to the coffee table for a tissue to spit into. A second tissue let him wipe Pretty down, his penis twitching softly at the ministration.

"That was... God..." Pretty dropped his head back on the couch cushions, and Angel chuckled a little bit. 

"Good?" Angel unfolded himself from the floor, taking in his sub who now flopped bonelessly on the couch.

"Damn." Pretty sighed softly. "Best blow job, ever."

"Well, while I doubt that, I do appreciate the compliment.” Angel chuckled. “I will be right back." He detoured to the bathroom, adjusting himself subtly as he walked. Now was not the time to be thinking of himself, after all. He rinsed out his mouth and disposed of the tissues, splashing a little cold water on his face afterward before taking a warm cloth out to clean Pretty up properly and tuck him back into his clothes. 

"Thanks, Cas," Dean said sleepily after Cas came back from disposing of the cloth. "That was... Really good."

"I'm glad," Cas said, smiling and leaning in to kiss Dean softly. "Now, I am going to get supper started. Why don't you take a nap? You've had a long afternoon."

"What? No, no... You had class all day. I'll cook." Dean fought to sit up from the soft cushions, but Cas raised an eyebrow and gently pushed him back down.

"Consider it part of your reward," he said, leaning in for one more kiss. "You can do the dishes."

Dean subsided with a nod. He really didn't _want_ to get up, anyway. His orgasm made him feel all boneless and happy. "If you say so," he agreed finally. 

Cas grinned and stood up. "Good. Now take a rest. I'll be back in after I get everything started." He tugged the afghan down to cover Dean’s torso, since he’d doubtless get cold without his shirt on.

Dean shifted back onto the couch somewhat reluctantly as Cas tucked him in, only to blink in surprise when JJ bounced up onto his chest. She circled a few times and curled up beneath his chin, purring, and Dean chuckled. "So you think I oughta take a nap, too, huh? Traitor," he said fondly, stroking her springy fur. and letting his eyes drift closed. He trusted Cas would wake him when it was time to eat. 

Cas wandered into the kitchen to begin preparing their dinner. He glanced out the open doorway, seeing Dean already starting to doze off. Good. John Winchester had disturbed enough of Dean’s sleep over the years. He opened the refrigerator to see a grand total of… Nothing very appealing. They’d planned to go grocery shopping in a day or two, anyway, and the fridge showed it.

He shut the door softly and padded back into the living room. Dean was still dozing, so he grabbed a small notebook and pen off the table to scrawl a quick note in case Dean woke up. 

Went for dinner. Be back soon.  
Love,  
Angel

He set the pad down where Dean would see it if he woke and then carefully left the house. He didn’t want to risk waking JJ, and Dean by extension. He slid into the driver’s seat of the car, trying to remember the name of the bakery Dean liked so much. He’d promised his boy a pie, and a pie he would have.

Cas’ stomach clenched as he started the car. Much as he’d like to think that he trusted Dean to protect himself, as he showed today he could, the memory of John’s menacing form the last time Cas saw him was enough to make him hesitate before driving away. He thought Dean would appreciate burgers from The Black Cat, though, and of course his promised apple pie.

He pulled out and down the driveway, though he reflexively scanned for John’s Impala as he drove. Dean’s strength never ceased to amaze him, he thought, as he rolled down the road. What would it have been like for him, to stand up to John like that? His brave Dean, telling John what for. He smiled at the thought, wishing he could have seen it. If only he’d shot the bastard, then Cas wouldn’t have to worry about him coming back when Cas was out. 

It was only a short drive into town, and he pulled up at the bakery first. He glanced at the clock; still two hours before closing. Hopefully they’d still have some pie left, this close to the end of the day. He slid out of the car, glancing at the mostly empty parking lot. Good; hopefully that meant that it hadn’t been that busy and there would be something for Dean inside.

The bell over the door rang merrily as he stepped inside, and the scent of sugar wafted over him. “Hello, welcome to _Carrie’s_!” The cheery sub behind the counter smiled brightly as he approached. “What can I get for you today?”

“Do you have any pie?” Cas scanned the glass counter, hoping for apple. That was Dean’s undisputed favorite, Cas supposed for its nostalgia value, but he knew Dean would eat whatever he found.

“You’re in luck!” The young man slid back the door on the case and pulled out a golden, crispy pie. “Cherry apple, last one of the day.” 

Not exact, but it would have to do. “I’ll take it,” Cas said, his mind wandering toward the pretty picture Dean would make as he ate it. His Pretty always made such _perfect_ noises when he ate pie. He dug the wallet out of his pocket and passed the clerk his card, signing quickly as he was handed the receipt. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, and enjoy!” The clerk slid the boxed pie across the counter and Cas wasted no time leaving. Ideally he wanted to be home before Dean woke up. Luckily, the ride to the Black Cat was a short one, and as he walked into the familiar bar, a friendly voice called out.

“Angel! Long time, no see!” Tracy stood behind the bar, and waved him over. “How’s Pretty?” 

It was strange to hear his name for Dean coming from someone else’s lips, but Cas had to remind himself that Dean had used that at the bar long before they’d met. It was a defense mechanism he understood, as a sub working the kind of job where he’d be faced with inebriated doms on the regular, but that didn’t mean he had to _like_ it. 

“He is doing very well,” Cas said, smiling thinly. “Actually,he’s just been cleared to walk again, so hopefully in the next week or two he could return to work, if he were provided a stool to do most of his work from.” He knew Dean planned to return to the garage, even if he could only sit behind the desk. Perhaps there was a similar position at the bar he could occupy for the time being. After all, Dean hated to be idle, and Cas knew he hated leaving the others in the lurch. 

“Maybe,” Tracy said with a grin. “I’ll have to talk to the boss man. We’ve missed him, though. So what can I do for you?”

“I’m sure that would be most appreciated.” Cas slid onto the stool where he usually sat when he was visiting Dean at work. “He mentioned yesterday that he was craving one of your burgers. We didn’t have time to stop then, but I thought perhaps today I’d surprise him.” He grinned. “I’d like two burgers with everything, and an extra large loaded fries, to go please.”

“Coming right up,” Tracy said with an answering grin.

Cas leaned on the bar, watching as Tracy headed back to place their order. His mind wandered to the strong independent sub he’d met the first time here, how Dean’s, Pretty’s, green eyes had stopped him in his tracks. Today had proven that ‘his’ Dean was well on the road to recovery, maybe already almost himself again. His stomach clenched in sadness, because he knew what that meant. As much as he loved Dean, and as little as he wanted to introduce space again, he knew it was time. Dean deserved to have his choices back. 

Tracy came back a few minutes later with a big paper bag. “On the house,” she said warmly. 

“What?” Cas blinked. “I can certainly pay.” He reached for his wallet, but Tracy waved him off again.

“Tell Pretty we miss him and he should get his cute little butt better so I can have him stealing my tips again.” She grinned teasingly and pushed the bag across the bar again. “Come on now, don’t let these awesome burgers get cold.”

 

Cas sighed, but he nodded gratefully. He flipped his wallet open and pulled out a five, pushing it into the tip jar before she could stop him. “I will pass on the message,” he said, snagging the bag over her muttered protest. “We will see you soon!” He called over his shoulder as he headed out the door.

The urgency built as he slid into the seat and started the car. He missed Dean already, and the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach made him wonder if he wasn’t getting paranoid about John returning once again. Still, he put it out of his mind when he pulled in the driveway, gathering his bags. Dean still slept on the couch, though JJ muzzily lifted her head to see him walk in. He smiled when she settled back down, and he went into the kitchen to plate their food.

“Dean?” His voice was hesitant; he didn’t want to wake Dean, really, but he didn’t want their food to get cold, either. 

Dean murmured an answer, yawning a little bit as he shifted. Cas smiled fondly as Dean’s green eyes fluttered open. “Angel?” He mumbled, blinking slowly. 

“Yes, Pretty, I’m back,” he said, only mildly surprised to hear Dean changing his name. He took it with no hesitation, however, more than willing to step into the supporting role if his sub needed a little more “Go ahead and sit up, I’ve got burgers.” He lifted the plates teasingly, letting Pretty wake a little more before he approached the couch. “What would you like to drink?” 

Pretty yawned and stretched, then slid his feet off the couch so Angel could sit next to him. “Umm. Coke?” He looked more eagerly at the plates in Angel’s hand. “Ooh… Are those Tracy’s loaded fries?”

Angel laughed, passing over a plate and setting his on the coffee table. “They are. She sends her regards, by the way, and hopes you’ll be back to work soon.” He glanced at Pretty over his shoulder, pleased to see the little blush on his sub’s cheeks. His sub never seemed to take himself seriously enough. 

He returned to the couch with two glasses of Coke, pleased to see Pretty already digging into his burger. It wasn’t that long ago that he would have waited for Angel to come back and start eating before he touched his own. It was another bittersweet feeling; he was going to miss seeing Dean every day winning his little victories. He had no intention of not being around, but until Dean invited him properly, he was going to step back again, and let his strong, independent sub set the pace.

“Would you like to watch something while we eat, Pretty?” He hovered uncertainly, feeling just a little off pace. He glanced at the television, suddenly wishing for a little background noise to mask his melancholy.

“Oh uh, sure.” Pretty nodded. “Whatever you want.” He scooped up cheese sauce onto a fingertip, licking it off with a grin. “Mm. Oh yeah. I forgot how much I love these fries, man.” He grabbed another fry, chewing it thoughtfully. “This really hits the spot. Thanks.”

“Of course.” Angel paused for a second, considering the movies already stacked by the television before chuckling. Sam had gifted Dean with a set of ‘classic cowboy’ movies, the kind you could just turn on and ignore. That was the exact kind of movie he had been hoping for. He put it in and joined Pretty on the couch. His chest eased as Pretty snugged up against him. A warm and welcome weight against his side. “How is this?”

Pretty smiled, that same smile that still melted his heart. “Perfect,” he said. “Now eat, before your burger gets cold.”

Angel grinned and reached for his food. “Of course. That would be a shame.” They ate in silence, and slowly the cold feeling that had been building in his gut receded. He chewed his food thoroughly, savoring the salt-fat richness of the burger and the fries. The movie played and both men relaxed, until Pretty scooped up the last of his cheese sauce with a fingertip. 

“Mm… That was delicious,” Pretty said, dropping his head down to Angel’s shoulder. “Thank you, Angel.”

Angel finished his own last bite, smiling as he licked a bit of cheese off the corner of his mouth. “You’re very welcome, Pretty.” He slid a hand down, stroking Pretty’s shoulder, one thumb rubbing soothingly. The movie was drifting toward its end, and as the credits rolled, Angel shifted. “Pretty? 

“Yeah?” Pretty sounded drowsy, but not dozing, and he tilted his head. 

“I was thinking it might be time for pie. Yes?”

“Aww, hell yeah.” Pretty grinned, shifting again so he could slide his weight off Angel. The dom regretted the loss immediately. “Apple?”

“Yes. Well, apple-cherry.” Angel stood, pressing a kiss to Pretty’s lips before turning away. “I will be right back.” In the kitchen, he paused for a moment in front of the cabinet, his hand hovering before pulling out only one plate. He cut an extra large slice of pie and took one fork from the drawer. It was a risk, but before he left, before everything needed to go back the way it was, he wanted the chance to try this with Pretty. To take care of him in a way he never really allowed.

When he came back to the living room, Pretty had set up the television with another episode of Buffy. “Oh, good choice.” He settled down, bracing for when Pretty only saw one plate. He was not disappointed, when his sub frowned and sat up more fully.

“Aren’t you having pie, Angel?”

“I thought we could share this piece,” Angel said, smiling warmly even though he could tell that Pretty was working on his way to turn him down. He scooped up a small bite of pie in explanation. “I thought it might be nice if I fed you.” There. It was out. His heart was pounding in his chest; this was exactly the kind of thing Pretty always said he was frightened of. Giving up his independence, letting a dom take care of something as basic as food. Even if, done properly, it could be a most erotic experience.

“No, no way Angel.” Pretty shook his head. “I’m not a _baby_. There’s no way I’m gonna let you _feed me_.” He spoke stiffly, clearly already thinking ten steps ahead of where they were. 

Angel bit back a sigh. He set the fork down, the scoop of pie tipping off sideways. This was one of the sticking points that honestly bothered him. He tried not to let it; it wasn’t as though feeding Pretty was the only way that he could show his sub that he cared. Still… “It isn’t about your lack of capability, Pretty. I understand that it is not… not something that you’ve considered.” He bit his lip, thinking. It was so frightfully easy to cross lines with Pretty, and that was really the last thing that he wanted. He was starting to second guess himself; Pretty had a long day, and even though this was meant to be a reward, maybe it was too much too soon. 

“Not considered?” He snorted. “I’m not an invalid. I can feed myself.” He bristled with indignation, though he didn’t push off the couch and storm out. Angel counted that a win. 

“Of course you _can_ feed yourself…” Angel gently brushed the hair out of Pretty’s face, where it had fallen with all his moving around. It was time for him to cut Pretty’s hair again, but he was grateful Pretty hadn’t mentioned it yet, giving him another day to toy with the soft strands. The movement was distracting for both of them, giving him a moment to gather his thoughts. “Feeding you is something I can do for you. Something I would like to do for you.” He hesitated. “It really isn’t about anything complicated. I just want you to relax, and watch the show, and share a piece of pie.”

“This isn’t relaxing for me, Angel,” Pretty protested. “It’s ridiculous.” He felt Angel stiffen beside him, and he turned to face him. “I didn’t mean it that way, babe…” He sighed. Damn it! Of course, the one thing Angel had asked of him as a dom and he didn’t even want to try? It figured. “I just don’t _get it_.”

Angel _did_ sigh this time, trying to let go of Pretty’s hurtful tone. He knew that his boyfriend didn’t mean it, but that didn’t make it any less difficult to hear. “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, Pretty. I just… Enjoy taking care of you.” He tried not to let his hurt seep into his voice, but the knowing look in Pretty’s eyes said he hadn’t quite managed.

“Y’know, I think I’ve figured that one out,” Pretty said after a moment with a weak chuckle. “But… Feeding me? C’mon, Angel. Isn’t that a little weird? I mean, you’re my dom, not my dad.” He tried to keep his tone light, but his confusion bled through. What the heck could his dom possibly get out of _feeding him pie_?

It was Angel’s turn to shudder. “Perish the thought!” He wrinkled his nose. “I will thank you never to compare me to… him again. Even in jest.” His hand went back to stroking through Pretty’s hair as he tried to find the right words. “I know it seems strange to you. But really, Pretty, it isn’t that unusual.” Angel gestured somewhat awkwardly to the pie. He’d hoped that the extra large slice of Pretty’s favorite might dispel some of his sub’s automatic distrust of being fed. Clearly that had backfired. “But you were comfortable earlier, in a position clearly not conducive to feeding yourself, and I thought perhaps it would be nice if you let me take care of you.”

“I could sit up,” Pretty pointed out, raising an eyebrow and pointing to the couch. “I mean, it’s not like my muscles don’t work.” Still, some of his initial hesitation had bled out of his tone and now it sounded more like genuine curiosity.

“But you were _comfortable_ ,” Angel protested. “And I was comfortable. And wouldn’t it just be nice not to have to think about anything?” He loved that idea, the weight of Pretty on his chest, and the feeling of _provider_ feeding his sub gave him.

Pretty frowned. It seemed like Angel really, really wanted this. And, honestly, he didn’t ask for too many things for himself. “Well,” he hesitated, drawing it out. Angel would hate it if he gave in just to give in. But then again, how many things had Angel suggested that he hadn’t eventually at least enjoyed in the moment? “I’ll try it.” He felt Angel shift in surprise, and arched his back so he could look his dom in the eye. “Once! Got it? Just once.” He squirmed back down to his comfortable position, his arms crossed over his chest, trapping one of Angel’s hands there like a security blanket. “I still think this is weird.”

Angel blinked, warmth spreading across his chest once again as his wonderful, sweet sub once again proved how strong he was. Angel knew he was grinning like Pretty had just told him he’d won the lottery, but he didn’t care. “Thank you, Pretty,” he said, bending down to press a kiss to Angel’s lips. “This means a lot to me.” And, yeah, Pretty could hear that in his voice.

It took a little fumbling for Angel to unmute the television one handed, pie plate on the arm of the couch beside him, but then they had it going, and Pretty lost himself in the episode of Buffy. JJ scaled the back of the couch and settled down on the back, watching loftily as the two men slipped into Sunnydale. After a few minutes, Angel shifted. Pretty’s attention was pulled away from the movie, and he watched as Angel lifted the forkful of pie toward his lips. Pretty took a deep breath and told the little twist of anxiety in his belly to shove off as he opened his mouth for the fork. The pie tasted _perfect_ , just the right blend of sweet and tart. He couldn’t help but moan, a little, drawing a rough chuckle from his dom.

“Good, isn’t it?” Angel forked up a bite for himself, and Pretty grunted his agreement. After that it got a little easier; Angel would intersperse mocking commentary about the show with bites of pie, and it wasn’t long before Pretty got in on the fun, as well. By the end of the episode, Pretty hardly even noticed when Angel was scooping more pie. When Angel scraped the last of the tart filling off the plate and offered it to Pretty, he couldn’t believe they were done already. 

“That’s it?” Pretty couldn’t help the little sound of disappointment in his voice. It had been just the right kind of dessert, and he licked his lips a little as he arched looking for more. 

Angel chuckled, but it was a warm sound. “I’m afraid so. To get any more I’d have to get up and go into the kitchen.” 

Pretty tightened his grip on Angel’s arm. “I don’t think so,” he said, frowning outrageously. “I guess I’ll just have to do without.” He heaved a huge, phoney sigh. “I’m just too warm and comfortable for you to move.” The sound of Angel’s laughter was definitely one of his favorite in the world, and Pretty grinned in response. 

“I suppose I could be persuaded to sit here a while longer,” Angel agreed, bending to press a kiss to the top of Pretty’s head. “So… That… Wasn’t as bad as you thought?” He sounded unusually hesitant. But then, Pretty knew he _had_ been pretty vocal earlier, so he thought maybe he could give him a pass for once.

Pretty gave the question the consideration it was due, and really thought about it for a second before he answered. “No. I mean… I wouldn’t wanna do it every day.” He shrugged a little. “But you’re right. I kinda liked it. It felt… Safe.” The way that Angel made him feel all the time. Protected and provided for. It was nice.

“Well. Good.” Angel leaned down for a proper kiss this time, and smiled against Pretty’s lips before he pulled apart. “I’ll remember that. Thank you, Pretty, for letting me do that.”

“Y’know, Angel…” He huffed out a small laugh. “You’re welcome. Any time.” He shifted again, sliding up so he could get closer to his dom properly. “Dessert doesn’t have to be over, anyway. I think I see one more course… Right here…” He whispered the last against his dom’s throat, relishing the little shiver there. It felt so good to know he had that kind of influence on him.

Angel tipped his head back, giving Pretty the access he wanted. “I could be… amenable to a tasting course,” Angel said breathlessly. Pretty kissed and nibbled, gradually shifting up the couch until he was straddling his dom. 

“Good.” Pretty leaned in for a deeper kiss. His walking boot clacked against the edge of the coffee table, but he ignored it and pressed even closer. He chased his dom’s tongue with his own, groaning as he felt Angel’s growing arousal against his thigh. 

“Wanna touch you,” he murmured, squirming. Each movement sent a frisson of pleasure up his spine, each groan he won ratcheted up the feeling of _right_ and _perfection_. He'd never felt this kind of power, like knowing he could give his dom this much pleasure. 

“Yes, Pretty, yes…” That was all he needed. Pretty began to rock, his own hardness rubbing perfectly against his dom’s. “You feel so good,” he mumbled, as Angel slid a hand under his shirt. His dom pinched his nipple, stroking and teasing as Pretty squirmed against him. He thrust against the welcome touch. As he repositioned, seeking traction, the damned boot slid on the floor and he fell forward with a grunt. He leaned in, huffing a breath against his dom’s neck. “Angel…” He dropped a few more nipping kisses to the gorgeous column of his throat. No, that wasn’t quite right, not right now. “Cas.” His dom groaned, and a sharp spike of heat shot through his gut at the sound. “Cas,” he said again, just to hear it again. Yes, Cas, his lover, not just his dom, not right now. “Bed. Naked. Now.”

Cas leaned up, silencing him with another deep kiss before he finally nodded and pulled away. “You are right, of course.” His blue eyes rimmed his pupils in a thin line and he carefully grasped Dean’s hips and lifted him to the side. “Space. That would be ideal.” He shifted on the couch and stood, reaching for the walker and passing it to Dean. 

For a moment, a fleeting thought crossed his mind that he missed the wheelchair simply because it would be faster. But he took the walker and stood, Cas’ heat a long weight against his back. “You're so beautiful,” Cas murmured in his ear as he stood. “I can't wait to touch you.”

They made their slow trek to the bedroom. The tension simmered between them, ready to boil over at the slightest provocation. As they reached the bed, Cas slid a hand down Dean's back. His touch hesitated at the waist of Dean's pants. 

“So help me, Cas, if you don't get my pants off right now…” Dean trailed off warningly, and gave his hips a teasing shimmy. That seemed to break the spell, and Cas hooked his thumbs at Dean's waist. A swift tug pulled the pants and boxers down to Dean's knees, and Dean sat at the edge of the bed with a thump. His erection bobbed against his belly, and Cas licked his lips, eyes wide, as he watched. 

He knelt slowly, deliberately, and looked up at Dean through eyes blown wide with arousal. Dean shivered as Cas continued to slide his pants off, down over the boot. His breath ghosted hotly over Dean's cock, and Dean couldn't imagine that was a coincidence. 

“Damn it, Cas,” Dean groaned, spreading his legs apart to give Cas better access. “You're still… overdressed.” He nearly lost his train of thought as Cas teased his fingers over his inner thighs. 

“I suppose you're right,” Cas agreed, rocking up to his feet and stripping off his shirt and stepping out of his pants. Dean could see splotches of paint on Cas’ arms that he hadn't noticed before, stark now against the pale skin where his arms lay on his belly. 

Dean slid back on the bed, letting his legs fall open as he did. “C’mon, Cas,” he wheedled, not caring how desperate he sounded. 

Cas smiled wickedly, stepping forward the few steps to the bed. “There has never been anyone who I have wanted as strongly as I want you,” Cas said, his voice a low rumble. He knelt on the bed, then stretched out beside Dean until the whole length of their bodies touched.

Dean swallowed hard as Cas joined him on the bed. His dom’s cock pressed against his thigh, a delicious pressure that reminded him just what they were doing. He leaned up for a kiss and Cas’ lips met his in a searing touch. 

“Please,” Dean panted as they broke apart. Cas didn’t make him ask again, he just rolled to meet Dean as Dean turned toward him, and thrust once. The touch of Cas’ cock against his own sent a shock up his spine, and Dean rolled his hips again, seeking more contact. It would be even better, Dean thought fleetingly, if there were lube. That could be for next time, though, because now that he had Cas where he wanted, there was no way he was waiting to find something to smooth the way.

Cas spat in his palm and slid a hand between them, grasping their cocks together. The friction grew, perfect, spit slick and hot. 

“God,” he gasped out, breath mingling with Cas’, as he sought for a rhythm, to feel it again “Yes, Cas.” He wasn’t a virgin, but it had been so long since he’d been with anyone else. Long enough that it all felt new again. He couldn’t remember it being this good, before. It didn’t take long before they fell into a rhythm together, each of them anticipating the other. Their passion built in a series of messy kisses, the heat between them rising until Dean was certain he’d burn up. The world narrowed to their bed, to Cas’s weight against him, the touch of Cas’ hand on his cock.

Another sharp thrust and Dean’s world narrowed further. “Cas!” He gasped into an open mouthed kiss, and his thrusts grew more erratic.

Cas’ answering growl of “ _Dean_ ,” shot straight to his cock, and with something like a sob, or a scream, Dean came. A few more ragged strokes later and Cas followed him, muffling his cry against the meat of Dean’s shoulder. 

They lay together, breathless, panting. Dean allowed his fingers to trail up and down Cas’ back, a familiarity he’d never dared with any other lover. He savored the smooth skin beneath the callouses of his fingertips. “Damn, Cas,” he huffed out with a laugh. “I should stand up to assholes more often, if this is my reward.” 

He was only half kidding, and wasn’t surprised when Cas only hummed in agreement. A moment later, though, Cas pressed a kiss to Dean’s throat. “I do think you should,” he murmured, voice rough still with passion. “But a reward like this…” He gave another soft, lazy thrust even though they were each far from ready for another round. Dean moaned softly at the pressure. “I’ll be happy to give you any day.”


End file.
